


Trauma

by DJOfRadioGallifrey



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, King Jon, Nervousness, Queen Sansa, Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension, king in the north
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-07-28 16:09:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7647730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJOfRadioGallifrey/pseuds/DJOfRadioGallifrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the retake of Winterfell and the defeat of Ramsay, a wedding is forced upon Sansa and the newly appointed King in the North; Jon. But it isn't plain sailing, Sansa and Jon both carry the trauma of the past month. Sansa is scared of intimacy, and Jon is all too keen to test his resurrected body. Davos is sympathetic, and Melisandre loves to pry. (Finally decided to post on this site, started writing pre season 6, but it does fit.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Started writing this in February, and wrote 16 chapters before the start of the season, the rest completed during. But tell me what you think? I should point out there is a reason why I keep referring to the septon as conductor, because half of the ceremony is of the old gods.
> 
> I can't write in italics, I've realised all of Sansa's thought processes are in the normal font, and hidden by the story dammit!!!!

Sansa must have looked apprehensive, that wasn't her intention. She normally had the gift of composure; she was able to mould her face into that of someone devoid of will. Submission had kept her alive for so long. And now, a time Sansa should feel safe, she felt the strain. Perhaps it was a glorious break down, after years of abuse. But this shouldn't be happening now; this was her wedding day, her third to be exact. They say third time's a charm.

Her ladyship was being chaperoned towards the godswood by a man she had only just become acquainted with, he seemed nice enough. But this man had been as insistent as the others who had called for her to be wed. She dwelled on how this was an improvement to her situation; how not only would she would be safe, she should have a good rapport with the person she would belong to. But they would never be husband and wife. That was why she was apprehensive, this was political, if not that, this was their way of putting a wax seal on her, and so she couldn't be used by anyone else. To keep her safe supposedly, or take away another's advantage, and that's political too.

Sansa's recently betrothed gave off an air of unease, which surely mirrored her own. Those grey eyes looked as sad and as stormy as ever. To her, this clearly wasn't what he wanted, it reminded her of her wedding to Tyrion. It was devoid of passion, and held so much awkwardness, and a few apologetic glances. Well he isn't Ramsay.

She spied their guests close in around them, as she glided under the canopy of trees, perhaps to hinder any chance of escape?

A leather glove took her hand, and she was drawn back to the heart tree and her betrothed. He had big hands, though, hadn't he always? Her hands had grown from dainty and childlike, to long fingered. There was a murmuring and chuckling behind them, and Davos, the man that had escorted her suddenly spoke. "Hang on, lad, I haven't officially given her away yet."

Jon sheepishly released her hand. "Sorry, first time." He gently returned her hand to her side.

"I admire his keenness." Further chuckling ensued. Sansa couldn't believe how the kafuffle in such an important ritual had defused the tension.

The man conducting the ceremony grimaced "Enough, this isn't a play!"

Sansa hadn't been smiling before, but she was now, and the very hand that had been returned to her- she used to mask her face.

"Ser Davos, if you please- who comes before the gods this night?"

"You've answered your own question." Davos jibbed, but quickly realised how he was playing right into the hecklers' hands. "Ser Davos Seaworth, of house…. Seaworth." Oh dear. He didn't know how to start, he could see the conductor shaking his head."-The knight of….Onions?" Sansa was sure she could hear swearing. "Give away my…." He looked at Sansa, he finally seemed to twig what he was supposed to say. "Oh- my liege's cousin." Questionable. "Sansa of house Stark, trueborn of Winterfell has come to ask for blessings from the gods in her union with…." He looked annoyed with himself, he had said it in the wrong order. "Our new King, whom I would say is a good match…that's if he does wish to claim her…." Strange question. With hesitation he retreated, leaving Sansa's hand to be taken for the second time by Jon, she noted this time his hands were bare, Davos's slip up had given him time to remove his gloves.

The conductor didn't call Davos back to do it properly, since he had said everything- despite it not being in the correct way.

Sansa couldn't look at Jon, at that particular moment- she was sure she would read from his expression how much of a farce this was. She instead looked at the conductor's feet disappearing into the snow. She should be standing before a septon, her mother would have wanted this. She finally looked up when he asked her a question.

"I take this man." Lady Stark said automatically, as if someone had poked her. She heard Jon expel air, as if he had just realised this was going ahead. She looked at the weirwood weeping for them. Well, that's what it was doing. She turned her head upon feeling her hand being raised along with Jon's. To her surprise their hands were being bound like in a faith of the seven ceremony, and a tweaked verse was being uttered. He is really allowing him to do that? Jon smirked, setting her at ease. So he knew what was to come?

"Look upon one another and say the words."

It was highly unorthodox to speak another faith's words in front of a heart tree. They turned, their hands loosely bound. Their eyes met and she couldn't help but feel they had been raised up high into the sky and were poised to be dropped straight into a bed… of snow.

"Father….Smith….Warrior….Mother." Sansa looked at the storm in his eyes, he was trying so hard to remember "-Maiden….Crone….Stranger ." And she noted he was trying to keep in time with her, since he was staring avidly at her mouth.

"I am hers. And she is mine. From this day… to the end of my days." He appeared to find that part the easiest. She was relieved he had succeeded, his face looked less harsh. He inclined to the septon. Well the conductor. "Done."

Her slight smile soon left when she realised he was probably relieved the farce was over. Sansa felt like she had been doused with cold water. She found everyone staring at them with a look of triumph. Davos pressed down onto her shoulders, he was encouraging her to honour the King's faith and pray for blessings from the old gods. At least it wasn't Rhollor. Jon had angled his cape and sword to one side so he could kneel, bringing Sansa with him. It only seemed fair. The snow moistened her knees as she closed her eyes and tried to word her silent prayer.

Make our marriage, a kind and safe marriage. Let us be content. She took a peek at her new husband, he was still deep in prayer. She'd better try harder, if he was putting in a good effort. Um…Give us blessings… make us strong for the fight ahead. She grimaced. The fight in the coming war, not a fight between us, of course. She gandered at Jon again, he was still asking for blessings, his face scrunched up, as if he was pleading with the gods. Perhaps he was asking for the gods favour in the upcoming battle as well? She closed her eyes again. Give him strength to succeed in his endeavours. Allow him to triumph against evil. She had to pad her prayer out more. Help me honour him, give me courage. Make me as strong as my mother, make me- Jon was pulling her to her feet. -Amen.

Sansa felt the urge to step back as Jon moved towards her, but her ladyship remained perfectly still, her face didn't betray her as his hands rose up. They levelled with her neck, and she realised he was only unthreading her cape, which Davos then removed from her. Oh. She felt silly not recognising something she had already gone through. The air was cold and crisp, and she welcomed her new cloak that she was anointed with. Jon swept it up and around her, his thumbs grazed her neck as he tried to make it secure. Her neck was a sensitive feature of hers, callous fingers on delicate skin was ticklish, she developed goose pimples as the contact continued since the weight of the cloak made it pull away, and Jon fought with it to keep it on. She crossed her hands so she could hold it on, ending the hassle. "Thank you." Though she wasn't sure why, it was part of the ceremony.

She expected the man at the tree to say something final, to confirm them as man and wife. But a rapturous applause broke out among their guests. Sansa didn't understand how she forgot they were there, they had all brought her here, to bear witness. But it terminated the ceremony, and reminded her that northern folk needed no pomp to wed people.


	2. 2

The banquet was a modest one. After all, there was a war on. The head table held the majority of the food, she figured this was to give the newlyweds strength. But it could merely be because there was a King at the table, she was frequently reminded when someone passed by and raised their goblet 'My King and Queen.' Oh yes, she herself was royalty. But for a good 40 minutes they were left to their own devices. Why was this so hard?

Sansa hardly touched a morsel, but she did sip some wine. It was a relief to no longer be the centre of attention, people were mingling- and some were simply dining and chatting with their mouths full. She cast her eye over some of the small folk, there was red bearded man among them, who ate like a beast, staring at everyone with suspicion. An obvious wildling, they took advantage of the food available. Davos strangely was subdued during proceedings, covering his goblet every time a servant approached, this man was a talker and yet he was sitting there staring silently at his king. She followed his eye and noticed Jon fingering a pool of wax at the foot of a candle, he even dared to stray to the flame, testing its heat. "Do you see something in the flame, your grace?" Sansa inquired, herself fascinated by the flame.

His curls danced as he cocked his head to her. "Your grace?- Aren't we equals?- Sansa you don't have to be so formal, you're my wife."

It was a touching thought. "You are still my King, you rule over us all." She saw his finger pass through the flame. "Does it hurt?"

"It feels hot." He said simply. Doing it again, and again. "My skin reddens, but it doesn't blister. But before- it would, before I knew. It must be all in the mind." He dipped the finger in his wine and put it to his lips, his eyes lingered on her for a moment.

Sansa wondered if his thick callous skin had made a barrier, maybe he would not feel the warmth of human contact. She recalled what Davos had told her after the resurrection. A piece of his soul will have broken off, he might not be the same. She had known this from the moment of their reunion, his energy was off, despite him being pleased to see her again. But a sickening dread had come to his features when they had parted from their tight embrace, one they had never enacted before.

Sansa hadn't known him well enough beforehand, he had been her bastard half-brother, they had spoken every other day during childhood, and then it was only in short bursts, on trivial things. They didn't play, nor did they embrace like siblings do. She would see him train with her brothers, play with her sister, and have heart to hearts with her father. They behaved like they were distant cousins, perhaps they were? That's if the rumours are true, but until then, they were still half siblings.

The match had been a weed like idea, which choked all other match proposals, people didn't seem to care they were siblings. They were treating Jon as if he was an entirely new person. Dead men don't have siblings. But the crowd that had elected him as King saw him as something else...A Targaryen. Winterfell at the moment belonged to her, she was a Stark. But which were their kingdoms? She emptied her lungs on that note. She knew nothing. If she knew him like Arya did, they would have been no problems. She had been too much like her mother Catelyn, faithful to what she knew. But surely if that were the case; wouldn't her relationship with Jon mirror that of Catelyn and Petyr?

She had been staring into the space that occupied the side of her husband, not paying attention to the dark expression on the King's face. "You're bored, love."

"Hm?" She set her eyes on him again. "No, I'm…pensive."

"Isn't he your favourite minstrel?"

Her husband gestured at the man singing on the elevated part next to their table, she smiled sadly. "My favourite minstrel died during the war, perhaps he should have spent more time practising with a sword than….minstrel-ling." She toyed with her armrest to sever the burning eye contact he was giving her. "I not accustomed to music anymore." She didn't know why she had said it, it wasn't true. Music was fine. She just couldn't bare the singing, she found it reminded her of darker times; bad weddings and sieges. It wasn't escapism anymore, it wasn't romantic, and it didn't stir any feelings in her. Perhaps she had died, and had been brought back too. "I'm sure our guests are enjoying him."

"I recall a time you once tried to hold a minstrel against his will."

"I think that's called foreshadowing. I learnt my lesson." She said disinterested, accidently pulling a stud out of the armrest and quickly discarding it.

"I could have you hanged for that act of vandalism." She gave herself a crick in the neck turning her head rapidly to her King. Jon must have read her alarmed expression. "Sorry, that was a bad jest. I won't do that again- at least not until you have gotten to know me." One of those hands of his moved to her, it danced over the embroidery on her sleeve, and everything seemed to stop, as if he had called a terrible verdict. The sound muted, it wrung in her ears- she could almost hear the crackling of a pyre, or an axe whistling through the air, or a hangman's trapdoor. Sansa stared at her sleeve as if waiting for it to catch fire.

"Do you hang people often?- When will be the next time I hear it. Though I hear beheading people does the trick." Still not quite over the tasteless joke, though after her own comment, she was a hypocrite.

"I was trying to engage you." He soothed. "You have to admit- it did wake you up." The hand dropped right onto her sleeve this time, and it gave her very little comfort, it was heavy and hard- and it clamped onto her like a manacle "Smile." He said with a dominant edge.

She frowned at this, before obliging. It was a toothless smile, full of uncertainty. Well, it was a king's command. "How do you like your new powers?" She drawled, trying to be polite.

"I wouldn't call them powers- I still haven't learned to control the pain." Jon not understanding her actual question, he was about to fixate on the candle again, until his fair queen touched his hand, something she half expected to be cold.

"I meant your Kingship."

"Oh..." He withdrew from the candle. "I was chosen by my people, for my people. It's easier to rule over people who elected you." It rolled out of his mouth as if he had said it for the hundredth time. "An obligation." His hand turned over under hers, his fingers curled up and around the maiden's hand.

"Do you like it, though?"

"-Do you like being Queen?" He retorted shrewdly.

She could see the storm clouds again. It felt like a test. Was he asking if she liked the idea of being his wife, or having a new responsibility? "I was born to be a lady, in training to become a Queen." She shrugged. "I must do what I must."

Sansa saw his mouth move but no sound came out, it could have been a cuss or a simple yes. He withdrew subtly from her, and tucked into some meat at the table. She felt dissatisfied with the response he had given her own, he was either disappointed, or in agreement to her being subservient. She always did what she must. Smart women do as they're told.

She downed her dregs as she spied him tear into an ox. Oh Lord. He was behaving like an alpha wolf with a very healthy appetite. Sansa just hoped it wasn't an appetite to mount something.

"My queen." That was Davos behind her, she inclined her head, then bobbed it in acknowledgement. She didn't expect him to converse with her at that moment- since many folks that night had been addressing the royals, and then scooting off. They seemed scared of their new King too. "Don't dwell on the future, just think of now, and right now you need nourishment."

Her chair squeaked as she twisted to him in her seat. "It's not for a queen to stuff her face, I have eaten." She put gently, so as not to draw any attention. "Don't worry I'm not going to collapse, this is down to growing accustomed to long trips, I can ride a horse through the night without stops, and not as much as wobble as I dismount." She had become accustomed to lying, she just hoped Davos wasn't a mind reader. Though it was afterwards she realised she had just used a bizarre metaphor that could easily be construed as sexual stamina. "Won't you drin-?" She tapped her goblet, her voice nearly conked out. "A drink?"

"Not while I'm on duty, your grace." His head was low and his hands clasped in front of him, like a proper servant, very courteous. She trusted them like this, the ones that stared she couldn't ever feel comfortable around.

"There's really no need to be, you are an advisor, a trusted one- but what advice could you possibly give us tonight?" Davos fidgeted. Was he hoping she would guess? "I don't think its advice our King and I would appreciate." Sansa couldn't have her husband being reminded, and if the guests heard, it might spur them into conducting the bedding ceremony.

"I understand pet, but I think he'll need a firm talking to."

He breezed past her and clapped a hand on his king's chair, she couldn't believe how brazen it was, he was King. Joffrey wouldn't have allowed such a rapid approach by a common man. Sansa opened and closed her mouth, she wasn't about to shush him.

Davos leant over the alpha. "Your grace, might I have a word in private?"

"Have several, but is it worth me leaving the table?" Jon tossed down a gnawed bone.

"Yes, in fact you will say- thank the gods I was not at the table when we discussed this."

Jon didn't have to be told twice, he stood from his 'throne', and it groaned in protest.

"Sansa." He uttered gruffly, before he made a swift exit.

She felt the draft from his cape, it left her cold. She hated being alone at a banquet table, this was the first time. Though she had felt the same loneliness at her first wedding in King's landing, to the imp, who turned out to be a kind man. May he rest in peace. Little did she know...

A red bearded man was gazing at her, it wasn't hostile from when she had last seen him, but still a bit intense. He was talking into the food he was tearing into. Only the Gods knew what he was saying about her. She felt like a peasant that had been left to clean away the scraps, she stared in the direction her husband and Davos had went intently, but wary that they could return with something ghastly. The next few minutes she filled the void with ripping pieces of bread and pecking at them. The more tearing she did, the more crumbs she made- she could make pictures on the table with the bits. A crescent moon, that became a howling wolf.

Would it be wise if she left too, in another direction, so as not to disturb them? Sansa debated, then arose from her seat, the music suddenly died down and she was left spectating over a crowd of people, watching her. Right, if King and Queen are no longer present- their party will cease.

Speech. "My lords and ladies, and others faithful to our claim." They were staring. She needed the gods. "Let us drain our goblets and….empty the castle stores, I think we have earned it." There were murmurs of agreement. Be crude. "While our enemies squat over their chamber pots and deal with trivial court gossip, we dine with the gods favour, for we are to defend the realms of men..." Her mouth was incredibly dry, but she could not drink once she had started, but she did prepare by lifting her goblet from the table, but it was only because she saw Podrick do the elaborate gesture, to guide her. "Let us toast and thank the gods for allowing our castle to remain standing during our ruckus celebrations." Sansa had expected them to wait on baited breath for something more worthy to be added- but instead they howled and cheered like wolves and emptied their goblets simultaneously. Then the minstrel began to sing about a legendary queen- not her of course, but surely a verse someday will be written about her. They were probably too drunk to realise that hadn't been the end of her speech, she had intended to improvise more, but she used the descent into madness as her cue to leave. She did not rush, she simply trod the boards as if she was about leap into the festivities. While everybody hugged and sang, she disappeared down a passage.

A door beckoned, which led her out into a courtyard. It was wet and dark outside, as she ambled through churned up mud to get to the centre of the yard. She just wanted to make out the sky. She had heard of a star that burned red, she hadn't seen it- but she heard it brought hope. Did it have any spare for her? There was a bright star just over the castle's chambers, it wasn't red, but it dominated her section of sky. Gods, give me strength- why do you insist on me being afraid all the time, is this penance for being so foolish before my father's death, so ignorant of possible traitors, being so determined to become a princess? "Well you're queen now, sort yourself out." She sighed, it had begun to snow heavily, and she lingered out in the open so she could savour it, in case they headed south- where winter would never come. Little did she know. The snow was settling nicely, disguising the mud.

There was suddenly the sound of crunching snow behind her, Sansa merely glanced over at the dark form that had emerged from the doorway of the passage. He was a mass of black and brown leather, with an occasional clang of cased valyrian steel bumping up against his leg. Jon levelled with her, not saying a word, she detected he was either looking at her or the sky. Neither mattered to her, being outside was a world away from being in, and that moment was the best yet, and allowed her only peaceful thoughts.

After a minute of silence, Sansa manoeuvred her skirts and faced him. Jon actually looked like 'Jon' for the first time in ages. Well duh, Sansa. Perhaps it was the snowflakes clinging to his curls, or the fact he was standing how he would when waiting to train, all weight on one leg, the other slightly bowed- making his shoulders uneven, Jon always used to stand like this.

The new king was eyeing her with the same amount of pensiveness. "You made a speech."

She blinked, his face was unreadable. "That I did, and..?" Throwing all protocol to the wind.

The corner of his lips curled into a smirk. "It was a rousing speech, am I told, and yet you waited until I'd buggered off to deliver it." He didn't look too upset about it.

"It was a spur of the moment thing." She left out the part where she had just wanted to leave. "I doubt any of them will remember it by morning, I'm sure you could repeat it- and make it your own." She jested, though she was sure he would be miffed. "Sorry…your grac-"

"-Enough." Jon started. "It feels like your taking the piss…" After a moment- he winced. "Mockery, sorry, I meant to say mockery. I should never 'piss' in front of you." He said crudely, and she didn't think he had noticed.

"I'm not going to force you to pay penance every time you 'piss in front of me'." That's right, she was going to say it too. "Any reason for wording it like that?"

He was still reeling with surprise, when Sansa's face split with a smile, Jon followed her, and they were soon chuckling. Which rarely happened in the history of their relationship. A Shame really.

Jon was the first to calm, leaving only a small smile. That storm once again resided in his eyes, and Sansa got lost in it. "Jon." It came out slightly dazed- like she had posed a question. The king's smile faded. Don't do that. The gap between them shrunk when Jon inched forward- Sansa tensed up - looking very lamb-like. He caught it immediately, he blinked and tensed up too. For two seconds they were almost wide eyed, until Jon somewhat flummoxed, chose to go back from where he came down the passage.

I could have done something more worthwhile, damn it. Sansa could have carried on the conversation, maybe go as far as to make a few quips. But she wasn't a quipper, especially not throwing them out left right and centre, one after the other- she wasn't Tyrion. Damn, he was funny. She unfortunately was Sansa. Sansa didn't make quips, she didn't engage a man with her words, she wasn't fiesty- she couldn't argue like her sister, or banter like Tyrion, she couldn't fight like any of her brothers.

Her feet had sunken completely in the snow.

Sansa could sew, Sansa could sing, Sansa could dance. Sansa could...smile. So she smiled at nothing, before she cracked and burst into tears. Ladylike, and demure as always, even when she cried. She had nothing to offer as a Queen, nothing but prettiness and compliments. A growl burst from her mouth mid cry. "I hate you, you have wasted your life planning to become somebody's wife." She hushed up at the sound of footfalls on stone coming steadily towards her. Davos ambled out of the passage.

"I don't intend to be anybody's wife, your grace."

"Another funny man." She oozed, trying to recover, but the croak remained in her voice, she dried her eyes with the side of her cloak. "Every court needs one joker."

Their advisor pursed his lips, clearly he didn't agree. "I think we have more than enough." He noticed her puffy face, and everything became clear. "You should never argue at a wedding."

That was a random thought. "Tell that to Walder Frey." She tried to go back into the castle, but Davos gently lay a hand on her. She stared at it like it was a blade. "I wasn't fighting, I haven't said anything, he just stormed off-" She protested, wafting her skirts- to shake off the clinging snow.

"I've already counselled him on how he should conduct himself."

"What, just then?"

"No, before your little speech... which I heard was great, your grace. I wish I had heard it." Davos tried. "Now I'm counselling you. Just behave like you did when you were children."

That was some pretty odd advice. "Is that all you said..?" They were to lark about like children. "You are a funny man, Davos." Further wafting ensued. "Kings and Queens can't behave like children." She snorted. "I suppose that's why he stormed off? - I bet he's going to stuff my mattress with sheep dung next." She tried to walk away again.

But Davos stood firm in the passage. "He'd be soiling his own mattress if he did something like that." He looked at her ludicrously. "I didn't mean act like children. Conduct yourself as you would when you knew him growing up, be civil and courteous, I'm not asking you to play husband and wife just yet, give it time."

Sansa nervously squirmed at the words. "Thank you for reminding me." She tried to act as Queenly as her body would allow. "I'm surprised, Davos, you are asking me to give it time- everybody else would be encouraging us to go straight to the bedding. They want this alliance legitimized, why are you suggesting otherwise?" She kept her voice strong.

The knight dipped his head. "Well my Queen, I want what's best for the realm. I want your marriage to be a successful marriage- lay the foundations first before you build a castle. You don't want a 'Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister' situation developing."

She was genuinely surprised. "Thank you." It had come out gently, as if she was about to burst into tears with the sweetness of it all.

"I haven't done anything to warrant that yet, pet."

"But you have, you have told my husband and I to dispense with the tradition in order to build trust in each other." Sansa sandwiched her hands over Davos's mutilated hand. "You have swept away my anxiety, if only you had said this to me earlier."

"Well I did."

"You didn't."

"Well, I wasn't going to." Davos had such a trusting smile, he used his spare hand to pat hers. "It would have been a miracle if you did happily consummate this reunion on the first night, but I doubt you would be as lucky as your mother and father."

Sansa blinked, her eyes wandering to the side. "How much do you know on that?- You weren't exactly...there." She spoke, slightly embarrassed.

Davos looked furtive. "Well...my previous King told me, Stannis and Robert spoke about Ned and Catelyn's first. It is believed their first time conceived Robb."

Sansa didn't need to know this.


	3. 3

The celebration ended, once everyone had consumed enough until no man not even the septon was left sober and standing firm. The women cackled, as they danced amongst themselves. The men that had decided to stop knocking back the wine before they passed out, arose and announced. "The bedding is nigh!" There were less than six men still up and about, trying desperately to incite each other to whisk the Queen away to the marital bed. The ladies just danced merrily in circles around the tables, ignoring all plans.

"Good women- attend to your King!" A man tried to point at the man he believed to be the King, he ended up gesturing at some guard. A woman broke off from her circle and fell at the feet of the said guard- and used his clothing to climb up.

"Your grace, you have no beard- wherest thou beard?"

Sansa snorted at the shenanigans, everybody was disgustingly drunk- a horrid display, a funny display- if only she could have such fun, alas she was the only one sober, and it worked in her favour. No one would be able to conduct the ceremony if everyone was blind drunk.

Davos stood near the Queen, and acted as a buffer, in case any man dare lay a hand on her gown to shred it. She looked to her right and found her King resting his chin in his palm, he had propped his elbow on the arm of his chair. Dropping off to sleep, his head bobbing as if he were fighting it. His goblet had been refilled over and over by Davos, and Jon had downed them all but one, which still sat on the table. Sansa slowly stood from her seat "I'm tired, I best retire, have someone bring the King."

Davos cast an eye to Jon. "I would implore your lady folk to escort their King."

Sansa shook her head. "But the men will follow their lead and take me, I don't want to be stripped." They were still bumbling about, the red bearded man was so close- she could smell his pelts. "Tormund, steady." She spoke to him like he was a horse.

"Daughter of Winterfell, you shall be taken this night." He said that an awful lot. That's when the singing started. It was the Northman's daughter song. Oh dear. She put a chair between her and the assailants.

"Sansa use your voice!" At first she thought the advisor meant sing to them, but Davos raised a hand. "Hang on, men!"

"-I can take myself to bed, thank you very much!" There was sighs of resignation and boos. "But please have someone assist my husband." They probably wanted some female nudity- but they'd have to find that in a brothel. The able men and women of the night managed to winch Jon out of his chair, he protested, and gestured to the door, trying to convince them he can walk himself. But after a minute or so of grinding into a table and chair- they swamped him- half shoving and half carrying him out through the hall's main doors.

Sansa glided through the hall, a couple of yards behind them. Her train had gotten stood on that many times, she was forced to the back of the procession. The Queen could just make out the King's head flopping back, his curls clinging to his face. "He'll strain his neck, support it." She commanded, they raised his head- and she could no longer see the dazed look on his features. She was being shadowed by her advisor, the man that had adamantly reassured her nothing was going to happen. May the gods bless him. "When you advised him…" She heard them kick the master chamber's doors in, and then pile through. "Was he in accordance with you?"

Davos furrowed his brows, he looked from the crowd to her. "What do you mean?"

Sansa mirrored him. How was that a hard question? "Did he agree that it was best to leave the bedding for another night?"

Davos nodded. "Eventually."

It was just one word, but it gave her so many doubts, and brought many more questions to mind. They heard bed springs, she guessed they must have chucked him from a great height onto the bed. "I don't think he would go back on his word…" He twirled his finger as a signal for her to turn around, she obliged suspiciously, and he removed her cloak- she went stiff. "Don't worry, it's just for show- your subjects need to believe you are going to fulfil the...well he fulfils you with-"He went all mumbly and embarrassed towards the end, she perfectly understood.

"Of course, but I don't see how they could believe it's still going ahead, they are aware we were once-" She began to whisper, but suddenly did a double take when she saw someone spinning her husband's trousers over their heads. "My husband isn't even fully awake."

"Men don't have to be awake." He said with husk as if he was stifling a laugh. "Did you hear that a man's cock has a mind of its own, and it can at times wake up before he does?" He could tell she was mortified by this information. "Like I said, you probably aren't going to do anything tonight- but everyone would assume if you did, you would be riding him tonight."He gave her a fairly abashed smile. "I wouldn't say that's the best way to do it, since he wouldn't remember anything."

Sansa raised her hand to shush him. "Unless that was why he drank so much?" Her face didn't convey how she felt about that. "So he was definitely in accordance with you?"

"Well according to him, you didn't have to do anything- which I assumed meant, nothing was going to happen." He was vague.

Assumptions. Everybody was making them. So far Davos was telling her he believed Jon would have gone through with it if he had been advised otherwise. "So he doesn't need my compliance." It came out grudgingly, but she wouldn't have said it at all, if she wasn't so anxious. "I bid you goodnight."

"Tell everyone."

Sansa raised her voice to the swarm. "I bid you all goodnight, I hope yours is as... fruitful as mine!"

Davos favoured this out of all the things he had heard that night, he would have retorted if he hadn't been drowned out by a load of whistles and dirty chuckles. Davos managed to herd everyone back to the hall, leaving Sansa in a doorway to her chambers, staring at her King.

Poor Jon, had been partly stripped and half tucked into the bed. Limp and peaceful. Limp alright. She assumed he had looked the same when he was dead, before they had brought him back. Back from the dead. That was certainly a mood killer. She closed the doors, and there was an ominous boom as they met- sealing her from the rest of the world. There was a spitting noise that came from the embers in the fireplace, it lit the room with an apocalyptic amber, and bathed her husband with a soothing colour, opposed to the deathly pale one. His head suddenly rose from the pillow. Sansa started, a hand on her heart. "Gods."

Jon grinned, blowing a curl from his face. "I thought it had gone quiet."

Slightly irked, she edged around the room, giving her husband a four metre radius, staring at his very wakeful face. He didn't appear drunk anymore, that's if- he ever was. Her hand had not left her chest. "Why do that?"

The sheet fell from his torso as he sat up, he propped himself with locked arms. "They would have never left if I had been sober and active, and keenness might have frightened you off." His voice was hoarse as usual when he was quiet. But his broad accent always made him sound hoarse, he took after her father. But there was a chance it wasn't his father."Wine, sweetheart?"

The new Queen shook her head. But he still reached for a pitcher of wine to fill two vessels on the side table, his sheet moved further south with his efforts. Sansa remained perfectly still, as if her own movement would pull at the covers as well. He clocked her over the rim of his goblet as he drank deeply.

When the wedding was suggested she remembered he was against it, and now he was taking it in his stride. She believed his calm was probably due to the drink. Sansa recalled this man used to be afraid of girls. Look at him now. But she wasn't a random girl to get bashful over, she had been brought up his half-sister, and his ladyship, surely nothing had changed. Sansa glanced away- pretending to check out the fire.

"I bet that has been lit for hours, it's stifling in here." She toyed with her sleeves, releasing some of the heat.

As if on cue, Jon arose from the bed, the sheet fell away completely- and he made a definitive move towards her.

Sansa's eyes had flitted to him as he had got up, but soon found their way back to the fire when she realised he was almost naked- although there was some coverage below the waist, known as skivies "I'm surprised it's lasted so long." Changing the subject was easy, but the nudity couldn't be sidestepped. There was warmth that radiated from him, as his form filled her side vision. Oh Gods. She swallowed her fear and focused on his face, it was neutral at that moment- as if gauging her reaction. Luckily he was so close she couldn't see anything unless she looked down. "Your grace." She managed, as her heart fought its way out of her chest. He gave a single nasal huff, and brought his hands to her bodice, his finger hooked onto a draw string, Sansa felt its weight and intentions.

"Someone painstakingly kept this fire going, so we would have no need for clothes."

She stared him down, waiting for his face to crack into a smile and for him to say. 'Just joking- you should see your face!' It never came, she just saw the storm in those stranger's eyes, one that could break free, destroy the room and leave her dress in tatters. Nothing was going to happen… you don't have to do anything… lay the foundations first before you build a castle … An obligation… Kings and Queens can't behave like children… their first time conceived Robb.

The bow of the cord of her bodice was undone, and then every stitch was tugged forward, to stretch the bridge between the whale bone. It was pulling away from her skin, threatening to free her bosom. Jon at first seemed interested with what he was doing, but then he fixated on her face- she tried to avoid those probing eyes, despite their need to hold onto hers. She imagined her body felt quite pliant, being as her arms remained by her side as Jon began to lay siege to her dress. His callous fingers crept past the drawstrings and inside the bodice, as if about to forcibly pull it apart. That was when Sansa snapped out of her passive trance, her hands came up to meet his elbows. She wasn't sure what she was going to do; either halt him, or take over herself. The game changer was when Jon, reeking of wine and ale sort her mouth, and she whimpered like a pup that had had its paw stood on. He froze, withdrawing slowly to look upon her.

She didn't know what was worse; the ordeal that had just taken place- how far it would have gone on if she hadn't have made a sound. That appeared to have bothered him. Or was the worst of it all the aftermath, the look on Jon's face- a hard stare. If it were an open mouthed stare- she would have been less up-tight. But his mouth was shut, his cupid's bow was less defined. A kingly face he had on, one that would make her throw herself at his feet - just to avoid. Jon. She silently begged. The hardness dissolved into an expression she was familiar with, uncertain and cautious- with parted lips. His eye-line dipped, probably to look at her state of dress it looked like she had got into a fight with a bear."Change into your nightgown and come to bed."

Sansa didn't believe that was a command, it was more of a gesture, he kept scouring the room, seeing if she did have anything to put on. This was her room, and she saw nothing of hers in it, the King owned everything. Even her. Jon finally snared a pile of fabric on a chair and unravelled it- he then chucked it her, she caught it between her arm and bodice, and she held it there for modesty. "That'll be yours, get it on and get into bed…" The urgency in his voice made him sound angry, though it could have been embarrassment, she highly doubted that. Kings don't get embarrassed. "Don't make me send for a maid- you can undress yourself, can't you?" She kept her head low to hide her shame, as she travelled to the room divider.

There were diamond holes in the device, so she felt she had to duck low to give her some privacy- though if he allowed her this courtesy- why would he try to peek? Through a gap she spied her husband inspecting the bed. At least he wasn't inspecting her. She slipped out of everything, letting it pile up of the floor. Then she pulled the winter nightgown over her head and smoothed it into place. Though she had finished, she didn't know what awaited her. Listen to yourself, you were brought up with this man, he's not going to… Her gulp was audible.

Assumptions, she had been wrong before. People had made promises and broke them. Joffrey promised he would be merciful. She winced at that memory, the very reason the family were ripped apart was because she was too dumb to listen to her father's advice. But Sansa was all too eager to listen to Queen Cersei, her former idol, and Joffrey- her first crush.

Sansa peered around the wooden divider. Jon was lounging in the bed, he noticed her peering around immediately, and perked up. "Done?"

She self consciously emerged from behind the screen, and meekly made her way towards the bed, trying her best to ignore Jon watching her. She drew level with him, and cagily folded the wolf skin back so she could clamber in. Sansa left a two foot gap when slithering into bed next to him, she pulled the cover right up to her chin and found a spot to stare at on the canopy. Silence became them.

"…."

"..."

The Queen was sure he was staring at the canopy too. Some rustling broke the stillness, it came from under the blanket, she hoped he was just getting comfortable. "W-what are you doing?"

"Taking off my braies." He huffed, trying to do everything discreetly. But he was lifting her half of the blanket to do so. She had to pat it down, so he didn't see her body. She heard something hit the floor and knew the deed was done. "I heard noble men sleep in the nude." Jon explained, gauging her reaction.

She closed her eyes, as if that would give her another barrier. "Never have I heard that."

"It's a little dangerous I must admit. How can a man jump up and defend himself, if he isn't ready?"

"Then why-"

"-Because I've never slept nude, these are the best sheets I've ever felt- I damn well want to feel them. More skin, more contact." He brought his arms over the sheet, pinning it across his chest.

More contact. "I understand." She said simply, but she couldn't relate- she just didn't want to object. "You are King." She sensed him look over, while she burned the canopy with her eyes.

That uneasy stillness was there, the type that could build up a lot of tension and a lot of sweat. He cleared his throat, and she knew he was waiting...for something. The king had begun to drum his fingers on the wolf pelts. She had to do something to quell the heightened energy in the bedchamber- "Goodnight, Jon."


	4. 4

Davos stood poised in the courtyard, he heard the chink of armour and his king emerged from behind a stable. "Your grace." He got in step with Jon, he didn't appear to slow down. "News has travelled fast, we've had a raven from the vale."

"Lord Baelish?- I should have expected him to butt in, he's no longer Sansa's legal guardian, he can't escort her back to vale as a hero-"

"Strangely it wasn't Lord Baelish who wrote."

Jon eased up slightly to a stroll. "Hm."

"Robin, he was distraught not to have had an invitation." Davos implied he didn't believe it himself.

"-Or irked his engagement was disregarded, I take he didn't know about Ramsay. Otherwise he would have sent reinforcements." Jon huffed, pausing just before the gate. "I'm sure someone would have advised him to."

His advisor bowed his head. "Well you certainly had someone." He unrolled the parchment to double check what he had to relay. "He pledges his loyalty to you, never the less….a little late, but this is the vale. They have their heads in the clouds. Apparently they were on the verge of sending troops."

This made Jon smirk. "I'm surprised he wrote at all, I thought Baelish had power there. Surely Petyr had his hand in this, what motivations would he have standing back?"

Davos winced. "Well, I believe he chose to come late, to miss most of the action." His breath hitched in thought. "I'm sorry to say I don't know the man, I'm not familiar with his dealings, I know he was a master of coin, and former ward of your…. Step-mother's father." He struggled. "I don't think he foresaw this arrangement, but the arrangement makes sense, and I can see by the hand in which he wrote- anger in his words, whomever they may be." He saw Jon's eyes flick up, his advisor doubted he was looking up at the heavens, but to the tower where his bride was. It was clear what was on his mind. "How are you this morning?" Davos began, but he was taking a great risk.

Jon met his eye. "How many times do you think I've been asked that?"

Be cautious, Davos. "I'm asked it every morning, perfectly mundane and boring question. Forgive me, your grace." He wasn't sure what he had gained, apart from the sour look on Jon's face. "At least tell me you had a goodnight's kip?"

Jon still looked sour. "I slept."

"Bloody hell, what did you expect?." The advisor had managed to strip the ludicrous tone from his voice. "You won't be as lucky as Ned and Cat."

That struck a chord, the sourness fell from the King's face and was replaced with a mystified look. "I can't believe you just said that…"

"Well you needed it."

A gleam came to Jon's eye. "I needed 'something.'" But it was in all seriousness, devoid of any humour and poise.

Though Jon and poise never belong in the same sentence. "Hey hey... it'll get better. Learn how to become a King first, then be a husband- then you'll get the 'something.'" Davos put the something in quotes, despite the lack of fingers. His King looked out through the gate, the older gent assumed he was studying his Kingdom, but he hoped what he had said had sunk in.

"She's just like Catelyn, you know?" The younger gent revealed wistfully.

"-I bet."

"She looks at me with trepidation." The leather around Jon's hands creaked. "It's that…or inferiority."

Davos didn't expect that. They were big words- especially for a novice, but he could tell by the air they were negative. "I doubt that, your grace. She looks at you quite fondly-"

"You don't know." Jon began to raise his voice, finally looking back at his advisor. "I could say nothing's changed, but even then she didn't look at me as dangerously as that."

Look who's talking. "She was relieved coming to castle black, when she thought you were there… her last and only brother." He mumbled the latter, seeing how it was irrelevant now, and disconcerting. "She was distraught when she found out you had been killed." Davos saw Jon grasping the gate tightly as if about to break it, he was sure if Jon hadn't been wearing gloves, his knuckles would have looked white. "-She was mystified by your resurrection, though, still I don't think she believes you were dead in the first place." -Brushing over the resurrection. He chuckled fondly. "She said you would be a tough man to kill, there is love there. When you first embraced she nuzzled you-"

The king stare was cast down, as if reliving it."-And then everything changed." There was a rattle in Jon's voice, that took his adviser a minute or so to respond. The section of gate Jon had been holding buckled, this concerned Davos. "She was manipulating me, convincing me to take back Winterfell with her sweet words and hand grasps."

"That wasn't manipulation, your grace, she was pleased to see you, but then she remembered she had an important mission, I'd say it was quite important...you needed to rescue-"

"But long before she knew of her brother, she had a hidden agenda." Jon hissed. "I succeeded her mission. She was going to be the lady of the castle, but then a new opportunity was given."

Davos knew he was talking of the union.

Jon continued."You'd have thought a girl that always wanted to be Queen would have threw herself at me." Sansa was never the type to throw herself, but she skirted by it fluttering her eyelashes. "She didn't even flirt with the idea, her whole demeanour changed when she found out she was going to be my wife. I on the other hand... could adapt quite easily to the prospect, at least that's what I thought. " He looked up at the tower. "It looks great from a distance, but up close it's dark and full of-"

Terrors. Davos sidestepped this creepy memory. "-I think you mean it's not as easy as it looks. You came to castle black to be a member of the nights watch, it wasn't a coach ride."

The older gent saw the early stages of a snarl. "And that didn't take me anywhere." Jon was so shrewd.

"You learnt how to be a man, you learnt the difference between honour and morality." Davos soothed. "The wildl- the 'free folk' are united with your people…who would have believed it!" He started to get excited, but Jon interjected.

"-It's not permanent, they'll be at each other's throats in no time. And they didn't all attend the wedding…. What does that tell you?"

"-They don't understand the concept of a wedding, some of them were there for the spectacle. They just didn't understand why you weren't stealing the northman's daughter." Davos laughed, he was fond of the songs they sung. "Give her time."

The king finally found something funny, a cheeky smile crept onto that broody face. "Well I killed her former husband, and then married her- that's sort of 'free folk' standards." Before they could pat each other on the back, a squire came to them with haste. "What?"

The man stooped. "My Lor- pardon- Your grace, A Samwell Tarly has returned with some men."

There was a series of looks exchanged, some acknowledging the name- some with confusion. "He's come here?"

"Well, your grace, if he has been told everything- would you stay in that small corner of the kingdom?" Davos suggested. "He's your friend."

"And as his friend; I advised him to go and not return or else he'd be hanged for being a deserter. He's a bloody fool!" Jon shoved by the squire and marched to the main gate, he expected to see Sam and his companions dithering in the courtyard. "Podrick, where the fuck is he?!" He saw movement through the steel and rivets.

"-At the gate, your grace, I was coming to ask if we could let him in?"

"Open the fucking gate!" He roared, and there was no echo of commands- none were needed, the gate keeper raised the gate immediately. The mechanism churned and clunked, then a portly young man bounced in on a stead, flagged by some more leaner specimens. "By eck, it is you!" Jon exclaimed.

Sam fell down from the horse. Not literally, of course. "Yes! I knew it." Sam threw his arms around Jon like a damsel. "Jon Snow, I was worried about you, worried you'd get yourself into trouble-"

"-And I did. Good to see ya' Sam." Pulling back from the embrace a little too soon, he could see his company disapproved of such manly affection. He cleared his throat. "And I got myself out. Now then-" Sam looked gormless. "Sam, you need to address me properly."

Sam sobered. "Oh, yes." He flopped to his knees with a splat. "My King, I am at your disposal." He held a rather distinguished pose, hand on heart, proud of his friend before grinning bashfully. "If you like."

"Arise… "

Davos stared. Jon couldn't knight this man, not yet.

"Maester Tarly."

Sam stood up, a little embarrassed. "Not fully, but I'm a quick learner- when it comes to memorizing stuff. But I shall happily take that title, and any duties you give me." Sam turned and noticed his party still had their head stooped low in respect. "Oh yes, introductions. This is my brother Dickon, and this is my far-"

"-Lord Randyll Tarly, your grace. I represent House Tarly." The man boomed, the man clearly wanted a seal of approval and to prove he was nothing like his eldest son. "I was told you possess great…abilities, along with your new discovered…birth right."

Davos detected doubt, and this man hadn't seen what he had seen, would deem Jon's feats nothing but myths. The Advisor chimed loudly-"Aye, his birthright, finally a man smart enough to know the truth-" Jon raised a hand to calm him.

"My birthright was withheld from me since I was a babe." Jon didn't feel right, they still weren't sure. To everybody so far he was a legitimized bastard, which had been proclaimed King by smaller folk, and had married his half-sister. "But the feats I have achieved in such a short space of time occurred before I knew what my 'right' was, now it all makes sense. It was my Destiny." The air was thick with admiration- it was just about knowing which party was generating it. "I'm not going to ask you to bend a knee, or pledge fealty. I just want you to lend me any able bodied men."

"To take King's Landing, certainly."

Jon gave a lopsided smile. "No, to defend the realms of men."


	5. 5

Sansa tried not to let this influx of strangers bother her. She spied from her nest some peculiarly dressed men discussing alliances. Tarlys had big ruffs and wide pantaloons, they looked quite out of place among the wolves. She studied her husband- and possibly a dragon. She let her head fall against the carved wood balcony, as she sat on the flagstone to keep out of sight. It was on the verge of reaching the time in the discussion when they talk marriage and women- and only then was it likely for Jon to send for her, to introduce her to the men. Until then she would have to hide away, and not get mixed up in politics. Oh she must conserve her energy for baby making. Her husband's voice rang out around the hall, she heard its depth- full of honesty, and an unfamiliar rattle.

"We're curious about your current religion?"

Sansa's ears perked up.

"I suppose you are." Her husband shared a knowing look with his advisor. "Despite what you might have heard, I don't have a set religion, but I tend to lean towards the old gods more than… the new."

Davos grimaced, he should have left out the later.

The youngest Tarly spoke up. "We were told you were with Rhollor, and you have a red witch at your counsel?" His father looked disgruntled he had openly asked.

Jon shifted, trying to correct his posture. "You were told wrong, the red priestess was removed from my court. We aren't supporters of the lord of light."

Randyll lip twitched in angst. "What about the faith of the seven?"

"My wife has the faith of the seven at her back." Jon worded it like she had been blessed by them.

"Is that right." The Tarly man said, meaning simply 'I see.'

Sansa was staring hard enough for her eyes to go dry, she was clutching at the carvings on her balcony, trying to pop her head through the gap.

The larger gent of the party looked delighted. "Really, so soon? I heard whispers that you might be allied with someone. I didn't know it had happened so soon, when was the wedding?"

Jon noticed the other Tarlys didn't seem interested, clearly they had had a match in mind, and this had scuppered their plans. "Last night." He uttered. "It was a quick affair."

"And I bloody missed it!" Sam crowed, his father slapped his arm, he wasn't amused by Sam's manner. "Ah, well, congratulations- we were very keen on a match with one of our own, but I think if you had your own pick then, fair enough…" Sam knew Jon would know he meant well. "So, who is our Queen?"

She was pretty sure there was a drum rolling somewhere, as Jon took his sweet time deliberating. "Lady Sansa of House Stark." It felt like someone had walked on her grave, she felt fingers caressing down her spine, which turned into a sharp prod when one of the party snorted.

"Your sister?" Dickon smirked. "How Targaryen...and Lannister, considering what we've heard."

The room plunged into ice, whereas in Jon's eyes- only fire resided, somewhere in the castle Ghost was growling. "Clearly you have been misinformed, or perhaps you haven't deciphered the ravens yet- but Sansa is my cousin." Davos shifted uncomfortably beside him. "Now she is my wife. If I am a Targaryen as people think- you would be wise not to humour yourself with such dangerous information."

Sansa felt like she was smirking on his behalf. He had chosen not to use the term 'Mock me'.

The elder Randyll dipped his head. "Forgive my son, he has been riding for too long." Sam had the opportunity to bump his brother. There was a majority in the room that liked this altercation.

"Perhaps after you've dined and rested overnight, you will have cleared your head." Davos gathered from Jon's tone, he had made the decision he would take them into his army if he had to. "Podrick will escort you to your chambers." Podrick manoeuvred into position, about to do the King's bidding, when Sam meekly asked-

"Will we be seeing Sansa anytime soon?- I've always wanted to meet the rest of your-" The previous argument had gone over his head. He smiled dimly. "-Family."

She believed she was up to the challenge of socializing with those indifferent to her, Sam looked a decent sort of man, his father spooked her though. Sansa shuffled back from the balcony in preparation to hurry back to her chamber in case she was sent for.

The king shot Davos a testy look. "Soon. She's running errands at the moment. We'll see if I can coax her to dine with us later. Podrick, their chambers."

Sansa had heard enough, and crept out of the hall. What an odd summary of her character.

Davos wished his grace hadn't worded it like that, it made her sound like a reluctant Queen. He could see the crafty look among the Tarly party- they reeked of descent and schemes. They were finally left alone, and Davos opened up. "You are King, you're grace, never say; 'I'll see if I can get my own wife down to dine with you'."

Jon tutted. "Never say never to me, Davos." Jon glanced from where the Tarlys had left. "But thank you for waiting for them to leave before laying into me."

Respect was thrown around frivolously in court, but this situation certainly summed up the word. His majesty grinned, his advisor had the courtesy not to equal such a smile, and bowed his head. "Your grace. I think you would have handled my outburst admirably if I had, you're good at putting the boot in."

Jon shook his head, face full of doubt and sadness. "It doesn't work all the time- I got killed remember?"

"For the great or good, it honourably broke you free from the brotherhood. And besides; people will flock behind a man who can't be killed."His own words scared him, no one should have that kind of power.

"Sure, flock behind a man that caused a mutiny." There was that deathly rattle, and the intense stare. "I just wanted honour, maybe a tiny bit of glory. Enough to make people forget I was a bastard." Davos knew Jon had more to say so he held back. "Being a brother gave me a speck of that. But it doesn't beat that first dream."

His advisor needed to know everything about his King's other aspirations. "What is that?- To unite the colonies of men?"

The darkness seemed to disperse. "The one where I'm lord of Winterfell, married and have children that aren't bastards." It was steeped in sentiment and longing, Davos felt bad for squashing it.

"-Winterfell, belongs to Rickon or Bran. You will have something better."

He saw Jon calculating, perhaps what else he could seize instead. "But before we found Rickon, we had Sansa..." His leather glove brushed past his hilt. Something was eating away at his grace."Still no word on Arya, or Bran..." His hand fully gripped longclaw, and Davos felt the urge to step back. "I will avenge them."

"Yes, but first, we must seize all able bodied men for our cause, we need to prepare for the army of the dead." The older gent had a problem with the term 'white walkers', the term seemed too respectful and gentile for such harsh violent beings.


	6. 6

Sansa tugged at her needle and pulled a thread through her muslin. The green stitch tightened into place, and that was a vine completed, now for the next. She looked at her efforts of a good hour, it was neat and pretty. Her jaw contracted and she ground her teeth. Useless...you can't win a war with embroidery. Sansa gently threaded the needle back into the fabric- checking it was secure. Very nice...But- She hurled her hoop across the chamber. "And stay there!" Luckily her handmaiden had been dispatched with an errand, so she hadn't seen this lapse in grace.

She heard clanging and sheering of steel outside her window, and the Queen knew at least one of them might be him. She had an unfamiliar tingle in her stomach. She wasn't going to look, she only imagined how the training must have been going. Jon was skilled, from what she had been told, whenever she saw him training in the past he always looked angry, and hot-headed, as if he was actually killing. Even inanimate objects quaked in his presence. Good, I suppose. As a child she found his method a little sloppy compared to her brother, Robb, though that could have been down to the taunting. But the method worked, most challengers would go down in the dirt, and Jon would continue to hammer their shields, until they screamed at him. I yield, I yield! She suddenly saw a memory of Ramsay lying cut open from nape to privates in the mud, the guts and grass mingled. Sansa hadn't realised she had been smiling until-

"-You are glowing, your grace."

She steered towards her handmaiden who had returned with linens and hoops. It dawned on her the morbidity of her thoughts, she was awful and vile- perhaps she should pick up a sword? She composed herself. "Thank you...It must have been that delicious breakfast, very large and fulfilling." The girl approached her with the supplies. Realising the enormity of her task she had set herself, Sansa felt herself grimace. "Thank you, just set all the hoops at the corners, I'll do the sigils later." Sansa requested, hoping to be left alone with her thoughts again.

"Yes, your grace." The girl perched on a stool as she did her bidding, she was quick. "Anything else your grace?"

Sansa shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and surveyed her room. "Erm, nothing comes to mind." She rubbed her head-push me off the highest tower. She blinked. "I shall not be doing much today." She wrapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. "What a day." She sighed, gazing at her husband's nightshirt hanging up.

The handmaiden was staring, as if something was about to burst out of mouth. "Your grace?"

"Hm." Sansa had a strange inkling she was going to say something that would annoy her.

"Would you like some camomile tea for your sickness?"

There was a pregnant pause, filled with distant clanging of swords. Surely the girl didn't think that. She had a new image of her own blood and guts- and a screaming baby burning inside her mind. She wasn't sure if she could go through with an explanation of the impossibility of that to this girl. The gossip in court would go from no consummation, a void marriage, to Sansa of House Stark being barren. "No, little dove." She heard herself, and felt sick. "I mean-"

The girl was on the verge of dismissing herself.

"-Tell Podrick to extend my well wishes to our new guests. Oh...and could you send me... Ser Seaworth... tell him it's urgent."

The girl gave her a funny grimace followed by a sloppy curtsey, and the Queen was left alone with her thoughts. It wasn't healthy being by oneself, she needed something, she couldn't drag poor Ghost into the chambers, away from his master so she could brush his coat. That would be cruel for something so wild. Perhaps she should have befriended her handmaiden? Next time she'll ask her name. She envied the girl's innocence, the girl was older than her and was probably happy and untouched. Sansa was 17, and she had to act twice her age, and she felt as such. How did she survive? In such a dangerous court, named a traitor- then kingslayer, then she was wardeness of the north with an abusive husband. She should save her thoughts for Davos. As she waited, she noted the clanging outside had stopped. Tavern break possibly?

She heard a funny sort of rubbing on the door, and realised it was Davos trying to knock with his wrong hand. "Come in!" No sooner had he entered, she asked. "Tell me about the new men."

"Your grace, they seem trustworthy." Davos was being careful, and she wondered why, she was on his side!

"And?"

"They've plead their case."

"No they haven't...why are you being vague with me?" She was sure the King's advisor was shrugging."Tarlys have an allegiance to the Tyrells of Highgarden." The corner of her lip twitched as Davos looked at her suspiciously. "Yes, I know things...I'm not stupid... all the time."

"News travels fast, so you knew they were Tarlys."

Sansa huffed. "You do realise I live here, servants come and go and they talk to me, once I knew they were here-." The chair creaked as she rose. "I was mystified they would come straight here, not all of them mind you- their bannermen are still with the Tyrells." Before Davos could respond, she continued. "-Though I am fond of Maergery Tyrell, her family have been jumping back and forth between camps, it has made me think, do they really have a true loyalty to anybody else but their own?"

"Are you talking about the Tyrells or the Tarlys?"

Sansa had gotten lost. "Both." She said indignantly. "I think they have the same agenda. Like Lannisters really, but nicer." She crashed back into her chair. "It looks like we have another party who finds our union a little iffy...Who can blame them." Careful.

Davos raised a hand. "Now that you have vented, can I ask...who did you have spying on our meeting?" He clasped his hands in front of him."Was it Podrick?"

No, she thought Podrick was a Lannister spy. She had serious trust issues. "I'm tired, very tired, Ser, you have your job." And I have mine, whatever it may be. Sansa's voice had gone to its usual volume. "I'm bored, and completely irrelevant, and it's my own fault- for not preparing myself for adulthood. I used to have my head stuck in those fairytales." She pointed at her hope chest at the foot of the bed, her books were in there. "-I lived by them, and now I'm living in a nightmare." She waved her hand into the air. "I'm not a Queen, I'm not a wife, I'm not a wardeness, I'm not an advisor, I'm just a damn name, did I not ride into battle alongside Jon to take back Winterfell?..." She finished by resting her head on her knuckles. "And it was me whom was spying, hardly a spy if I'm using the information for the same side." She heard Davos use her handmaiden's stool, it squeaked as he perched on it.

"Well, I think you'll find you're a lot better after that, has a weight been lifted?- Do you feel better?" Davos sounded patronizing, but she believed he was genuinely asking if she was well. Sansa turned her head from her position on her hand. Davos tipped his head to study her. "You seem like a Queen to me."

"I'm a brat, Ser, don't confuse the two." She didn't feel like laughing today, but Davos was in the mood- he chortled, he wasn't the only one- she could hear someone quietly sniggering in the hall, the door was ajar. With some very good precision, she picked up a cushion from her odd angle, and aimed it right at the door and it closed. SLAM.

Davos was amiable about it. "You've done that before."

"I haven't done that since I was 8, I'm surprised it reached so far." She clutched at her shoulder, she had wretched it. "Never has it reached the door, let alone closed it efficiently."

"You have longer arms than when you were 8, your grace."

"I meant I was always out of condition, I'm not agile like Arya...my younger sister." She added in case he didn't know. And he nodded and gestured as if he did. But of course."Though athletics aren't a woman's pursuits, I was always good at walking, didn't like riding, but I became good at that regardless."

"Then go riding, your grace." He adjusted himself on the stool. "Never really liked it myself, a horse is too high off the ground." Davos could see her clutching her arm, it felt like he should do something, he wasn't sure what. "I didn't have a head for heights, but I got used to it, I had trouble boarding ships and climbing on horses, in the early days." He smiled. "And it's been ages since those early days." His eyes went to the window, he appeared pensive, thinking about something sombre, at least that was what she could read. He then suddenly inclined forward on his stool, and his voice got quiet. "Practice makes perfect, I know this sounds daft, but when your shoulder is better, throw more cushions- throw them as hard as you can 'til it aches." He held a grave expression, in complete contrast to the one that started.

"Then I'll be strong?" Now that was funny. "I can see myself doing windmills with a cushion in each hand."

The old gent had laughter in his eyes. "Whatever agrees with you, pet. But make sure no one sees you."

Sansa picked up another cushion, she toyed with is tassels. "It sounds like your training me up for a fight." She with hushed tones, as if it was some sort of secret. The cushion held a lot of weight, she could image the strength she would have if she did it every day for week. "Who's my opponent?"

The door clunked, and Jon rustled in, the rustling was caused through the leather he had decked himself in. He looked from one person to the other. Both Sansa and Davos were sitting close, leant towards one another, and neither of them had addressed him. "What were you doing?" That wasn't an innocent question he had posed. "I thought it was a bit quiet." He closed the door behind him, and Davos leapt from the stool.

"Your grace."

Sansa knew from Jon's expression that he didn't want Davos to excuse himself. She feared for him. "Your grace, our advisor was just-"

Jon straightened his mouth. "Hm...our advisor?"

She didn't like that. "Yes, our." She stood up quickly enough for the cushion to fall. "I am Queen."

"I thought you were a brat?"

The air left the room, and she probably with it. Her face was numb. Bastard. He thought she was a brat- wait- "You were spying, outside..." It was supposed to be an exclamation but it came out low, and angry.

"A lot better than you." He tried to counter that rage, but he wasn't on the attack. Sansa could trace mirth in his features, it made her angrier. "I couldn't hear the last part, you were talking in whispers, I got a little worried..." Jon's eyes roved to his trusted advisor. "Should I be worried?"

Sansa snorted- but a delicate one at that. "Tactics, for winning a war, if you must know." Perhaps he'll laugh. She was starting to believe Davos had been referring to Jon, when it came to strength training against something. Self- defence maybe? "Beating our enemies."

"The white walkers?- Now you believe."

Sansa hadn't thought about those creatures she had never seen, to her they were as real as the heroes in her books. And there were no heroes. "When the time comes." She sat back down, hearing her own words ringing in her head. But she wouldn't stand a chance, she couldn't even win an argument. "If it's going to get as bad as you claim, we would have to armour up every woman and child as well as the men." Sansa tensed up when Jon made an approach, he'd have to forgo any affection- Sansa was never in the mood, nor ready for such advances. Luckily Jon settled on the hope chest at the foot of the bed.

She waited on baited breath for him to say something to bring her down a peg or two, Davos didn't help, he was watching as if he knew everything she had said was wrong. "So you don't trust the Tarlys..." Her king sighed.

Jon was out of her main line of sight, and she refused to turn to the King fully. "One of them is friendly enough, but I still don't know them. I'm sure the Tyrells do. I just don't want you putting faith in other people's men. Robb did that with the Boltons, and we all know what happened-"

"-Yes, I know, and I heard what you said." He didn't sound pleased, perhaps he knew everything and more- but regardless he most likely didn't want his wife to overrule him. She prepared for some kind of ridicule, he slid over on the chest so he was only a foot away from her chair. "But it isn't your call." She felt the heat from his hand through the glove, as he set it on her forearm. "They'll be on my side when the dead break through the wall."

Saying things like that made him sound very Targaryen. She turned. Seven Hells, his face was close. "If you don't mind, I'll eat up here tonight...your grace." She was playing with fire, and the only way to survive is to be cold. She managed to excuse her arm from his hand by pretending she was writing at her desk. She recalled Cersei used to write to pretend she was busy, when she didn't fancy talking.

"Don't be like that." She could hear old Jon in that brief moment, but the scratching of her quill must have got to him. The air became charged."Fine, stay up here!" He rumbled and her chair vibrated as he stood, she blinked as she felt a surge of air- she thought she was about to be struck, but it was merely the motion of him heading to the door. "Davos, come!" That was usually the style and address he reserved for 'Ghost.' Davos relented and shuffled through the door, just before it was closed, she heard him quickly add with a seethe."If you want to eat, you have to come down for it- no food will enter this room."


	7. 7

It was like the onset of nerves before a battle. The jitters, where the silence consumes them. Ser Seaworth had felt it at blackwater bay. Except this wasn't a battle. Jon seemed to think it was, he had had the 'kill' face on all day. Davos felt sick studying it, he was waiting desperately for his King's face to slacken before he spoke to him. Ghost was staying well away from his master, but growling at every person that crossed him. The mood was contagious. The only opportunity he had to comment on banishing food from the bedchamber, came when he witnessed Podrick getting ambushed by the King, he'd been carrying something on a tray, the squire was either protecting it, or disguising it with a cloth.

"Where you going with that?"

Podrick stalled, visibly shaken by the encounter. "Erm...Tarlys." Jon did a quick sniff, and the squire retracted the tray- thinking he was going to blow the cloth back. "It is for the Tarlys." He stated again, cagily.

"I smell lemon cake."

Davos just stared helplessly at the exchange. Fucking run boy, run.

"Tarlys like lemon cake." The squire tried again.

"Should I come with you and ask them?" Jon was disgustingly clinical. There was a pause, one that was so long- an army could have marched by, before Podrick broke free from the tension and ran for his life, still expertly holding the tray. "Come back here!" Jon was relentless when it came to following orders, especially his own.

The advisor didn't pursue this line of enquiry, but he'd certainly talk about it at the tavern. But for now he'd stand by as the King stormed about the place, staring daggers at everyone who had a whiff of food about them. He managed to manipulate a squire with kindness, into practicing with him. Podrick should have known better. He rang his head like a bell.

"Davos." A very chirpy chap approached him

"Samwell." He could hardly be anxious around such a happy face. "Your father's a bit intense, isn't he?" He had wanted to say that for awhile now.

"Oo yes, he'd have to be with the crap he puts up with, me being one of them."

"Ah no, you slew a walker, doesn't he know that?" Davos walked towards the gate, away from Jon. In case the subject changed.

"No one believes it, and it was a fluke." Sam grimaced at his own honesty. "Nevermind eh?- I know I did, which means I could do it again."

Davos smiled, he had heard of things similar occurring. "So would you say you are going to take a position as maester here?"

"I'm no maester, I haven't had the training." He shuffled along, hoping Davos would slow down. "Though you'll be needing someone experienced in birthing a child..." Davos frowned at the boy. "-Oh, I haven't given birth, but Gilly has, ehe."

Davos could see what Sam was thinking, it was laughable at this time. If only he knew. Sam was Jon's friend, it was best if he did know. The advisor finally came to a stop, a sigh of resignation escaped him. "I think you'll find this funny, but...Jon and Sansa haven't..." Hopefully Samwell could fill in the gaps.

Sam's mouth twitched. "Yer what?- Really, Jon...I know he was a sworn brother, but that hasn't stopped him before"

"-I know."

"-Aye, but...yeah I suppose he wouldn't, I mean-" He checked to see if his friend was out of earshot. "-She was his sister for..." He said it as a harsh self-conscious whisper. "How old is she?"

"17, I think...from what I gather... she isn't a maiden." He hated saying these things, he felt like a gossiping woman. Davos waved his hand all embarrassed. "So she knows stuff...it might help."

"That's Ramsay's doing."

The older gent was surprised he knew. "Aye."

"-And it won't help though, women become uptight and insecure about it all, they get snappy." Sam winced, he had been a victim of an angry woman. "And seeing as they both don't see each other as anything but siblings."

"They might not be though, Jon doesn't see it that way." Davos wasn't sure Sam was privy to that information. "Well I believe through my own assumptions." He scratched his greying beard. " The witch... before we dismissed her..." He began, not wanting to admit the sorcery at work. "She saw one of her visions in a fire, she saw Jon astride a dragon." It was supposed to be a sobering thought, which would have had many men in awe- considering the witch had correctly predicted they would get to Winterfell. But the young stocky chap in front of him laughed.

"My imagination is just as creative." It beggars belief. "You got the whole Targaryen rumour from a witch's dream of him riding a dragon?" Davos remained deadpan, and finally Samwell ceased all criticism. "By 'eck, you said you weren't following Rhollor-"

"-Sssh... we're not." He was talking a bit loud, the advisor squeezed the man's meaty shoulder. "I would appreciate you kept the vision and the witch to yourself, only his immediate followers know of this...and Sansa, even she is having trouble with it all."

Sam slowly stared up at the tower, blinking at the gradual snowfall."He used to be very vague about Sansa, he would mostly go on about Robb and Arya. " Davos too peered up to see if he could see Sansa, but visibility was low.

The snow stacked up on their shoulders, and they shivered simultaneously. Davos huffed. "It would have been awkward if it had been Jon and Arya, eck!"

The portly man laughed, his face scrunched up. "I can imagine. It'd be like marrying a body part, like a hand."

"I bet the consummation's not so bad." Davos then chortled, and after a slight delay, the older gent did a crude gesture with his hand, and Samwell finally got it and guffawed. "Oh what will you think of me?!"

"Dirty devil." Sam shook his head, this was a serious matter. "Oh gods." He tried to get his breath back, he suddenly hiccupped as someone rapidly descended on them, at a march. "My king."

Davos cleared his throat and he was sombre once more. "Your grace."

"Are you laughing at me, or the squire?" Jon was disapproving, he had been clouting a squire's shield, who was humming to syke himself. "Do you want to take his place?"

Holy hell. The kill face was as ferocious as ever, how could Sansa invoke that face on him, and on purpose? Surely she knew that face would be back. Davos raised his hands in defence. "My King, I wasn't discussing you, I didn't mean to interrupt your practice. But I fear your squire won't learn to fight with a shield alone."

Jon pointed a sword at him, at least it wasn't longclaw. Sam steered clear of the swing range, worried he might be next. "Share your joke with me- And I'll tell you how funny it is."

Sam was grimacing, on the verge of fleeing. He couldn't speak for him, not without coming up with a new joke. The older gent clenched his teeth, the King had a lot of menace. He had told many jokes in his lifetime, none came to mind when you had a blade in the face. Oh shoot he'll have to tell him, or-. "I can't remember, it was so spur of the moment, we laughed at the quickness of it." Davos was cool as a cucumber.

Jon lowered the blade briefly, but then promptly moved on to Sam. "Do you remember?"

Sam shook his head frivolously, scared witless. "No, not fully, something about wanking..." Sam squinted, and did an odd sort of smile; very insecure. That's when he realised how funny it was, all over again, and started laughing. Jon was dumbfounded, his sword dropped to his side.

"I think that was the punchline." Davos tried, and he was relieved to see his King's face split with a smile.

"Bloody wanking?"

The old gent saw another opportunity. "Then you're doing it wrong."

Jon was amiable. "Damn you are quick."

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sansa had called for a copper bath, she had it installed in a room with a separate lock to her chambers. Her handmaiden heated some water to fill it. "I shall smuggle you a cob of bread if I can, your grace."

"Thank you." And she meant it, she wasn't going to get all indignant about it. That made things a lot worse, she needed to practice the art of submission again, no matter how scared and angry she got, she needed to have the air of politeness and grace. She was a Queen afterall. Sansa was already a damaged specimen, she shouldn't have to add bratty and moody to her character traits. She wasn't Cersei.

Sansa stood her mirror next to the bath, the heat from the water steamed it up. She made herself as naked as the day she was born, and stepped into water- so very hot. Water cooled quickly in the north, so she didn't waste any time. She sat, and set her feet against the rim. Her handmaiden came back into the room with another pail of water, to be used for her hair. Sansa jarred a bit, since the maid used the bucket to nudge the door open. Bang. For a second she thought Jon had put his boot to it. "Lock the door, Agnes." The girl obliged, and she heard the bolt slide across. Sansa lay into the bath, curling up into a foetal position, so the nape of her neck got a good soaking, she sat up normally again, and sloshed some of the water out. "Whoops."

"It's alright...there's plenty left." Her maid reassured, she threaded her fingers through the Queen's hair, as if playing with it. The young Queen found this odd, and then "-Your hair is darker than usual."

"Hm." Sansa reached for a strand and pulled it over her shoulder. It just looked damp, that's all. "Maybe some of that dyes still in it, I had to disguise my natural colour to keep my identity safe." She explained, flicking it back over her shoulder. She knew that wasn't possible, since it had been weeks since she had that dye washed out.

"I see." Agnes pushed her slightly forward "Let's see if I can restore it." Sansa then heard the clank of a bucket, the water was tipped gently over her head. She wiped it from her face with a splutter. "Pardon, your grace." Agnes began to lather oil into her hair, combing it back and away from her face. "You have lovely hair."

Sansa remained perfectly still, when people got too friendly and nice, she believed they were up to no good. She remained quiet, as the fingers massaged the oil into her scalp.

"Does her grace wish me to put oil in the bath?" It was almost said absently, as if the maid was completely immersed in the foam in Sansa's hair.

"If you please."

"But would it please you?" The maid's hand came to rest on her shoulder, the oil starting to drip over it and down her chest.

Sansa turned a little to see the maid in the corner of her eye. "It would." Said quickly, not emphasising on it like Agnes had.

The oily hand suddenly rolled off her shoulder, and lowered down into the water, in front of Sansa's breast. That was a little close. The hand swished in the water, dispersing the oil, when the hand retreated, it skimmed Sansa's chest, she couldn't make a sound- without completely breaking her composure.

"There." The maid drawled. "Nice, isn't it?" There were so many expectant pauses, it was hard to brush off the strangeness of it all. "Would the queen like anything else?" So many connotations, but a blatantly obvious one was a hand stroking down her back. It tickled until it reached half way point, and she felt the tension lift. It felt good. Her eyes became hooded, and her head lolled back. She wasn't sure if was due to relaxation, or her head being gently pulled back. She was blanketed with warmness and something she had never felt before. There was so much steam, she couldn't make out her toes, not that anything else mattered- except maybe the tongue and lips caressing her neck. This isn't right. Sansa eyes opened, she sat bolt right up- and the bath nearly emptied.

She stood up, and turned- very unashamed. "What do you think you are doing?!" She said shrewdly. Though could you blame her?

The woman hadn't budged, but her eyes were slightly wider than the norm. "You can't be as forward and as intimate as that, do you understand me?!"

Agnes rose as smoothly as the steam that rose from the tub. Her eyes penetrated through the mist, not intimidated by her Queen in the slightest, she stepped forward through the mist with fluidity but reckless, like jumping through fire. Sansa gasped at the speed, but horrified to find a new woman standing there. Except, she knew this woman, but only from brief exchanges between the men, and she had glimpsed this woman on her journey to castle black, she had followed them to Winterfell. "Don't be afraid... Sansa Stark, I am an ally to you." Her voice was exotic, though any foreign accent was exotic to her ears.

"You're the red witch, I saw you...you were banished!" Sansa was still standing starkers, confronting this woman. "How dare you use your magic on me! How dare you sneak into my...husband's castle!"

"Your husband's castle, your grace?... I am saddened that you have made such a distinction between home and your husband's castle. You are Queen to the lord's champion, it is all yours as well, you should share in the lord of light's favour..."

Sansa snatched up her robe and covered her still wet form. Wrestling with the cord, desperately trying conceal her special areas. "My husband never agreed to be tied to the lord of light, and our union was blessed by the old gods and the new, not some fire demon!" She finally tied the cord, while this red woman looked unfazed by every slight she had made. "And the King owns this castle, not your lord of light- and you are trespassing. How do you expect to gain favour with your trickery?!"

"I wanted to reach you, your grace, I didn't mean to frighten or offend you." She was disgustingly soothing. How dare she soothe after violating me. "I must be close at hand to serve you, I am a messenger of the lord-" Melisandre could see Sansa giving her an annoyed stare at the mention of her lord. "-the lord that offends you, but please I only wish to help you."

"What about my husband?" The queen crossed her arms defensively. "Shouldn't you be chasing your champion, or do you wish to get to him through me?!"

"You are wise to think this way. I will do anything to protect my lord's ...investments." Melisandre raised her hand to Sansa's face, she jarred. "But right now, I need to help you."

Sansa narrowed her eyes, hoping her anger would drive this woman away. "So your way of helping is trickery, and...molesting?!"

The priestess simply smiled darkly. "That was seduction."

"But you're a woman." Sansa exclaimed, watching the witch cock a brow at her. "And I'm a woman." The lady was unfaltering in her manner. "That can't work."

"It's funny how ignorant you are, even when you are no longer an innocent."

Ouch, that hurt. Sansa shook her head. "Don't say that, it's not my fault." Tears prickled her eyes, was all her disgraces known to all.

Melisandre cupped the Queen's face, there was so much heat coming from the lady's hands- Sansa believed she was trying to scold her. "I know my Queen, I must tell you now, seduction isn't just a talent of a woman to a man, it can be of woman to a woman, or even a talent of a man to a man." Melisandre's face didn't budge to anything, but...inviting. It was like she was asking for a kiss. But I don't love this woman. "I'm sure you know it can be a talent of a man to a woman."

"Men don't seduce." Sansa spoke through a pair of hot hands. "They court, they woo."

"They always give men the less harsher words, to disguise their purpose. They must know that women can be subtler and deadlier." The witch was nearly taking up all her air. "Jon is not capable of courtship, wooing, or seduction."

Sansa felt a pang of anger in her stomach, it rose up and gave her a metallic taste in her mouth. "That's not his fault." She found herself saying, it was quiet and full of devotion. "He used to be shy, and now he isn't...he expects everything to just happen without any build up because he beat death."

Melisandre then pulled her into a motherly hug."You poor child, and know I'm here to help, I was sent back for a reason, to guide you and your King."

"Against the white walkers?" Sansa mumbled into the witch's gown, completely confused by her words and her actions. This woman either wanted to seduce her, or... "Tell me why you came back?" The hug was still in session, it was warm- but no good could come from it- witches were tricky. She could be stealing your soul. She pushed against the red dress which had engulfed her. "Enough."

The witch explained."Imagine the power you could have, an innocent looking flower like you seducing any man; the celibate, or the dangerous. You would have complete control."

Sansa heard a lot of bad words, in a sentence she didn't want to believe were possible. It sounds like she wants you to seduce the enemy, surely not the white walkers?! "I don't want to be a seductress!" Sansa exclaimed, and the red woman tried to soothe her, because her voice was getting loud and panic stricken. "I just want to be myself, I want to be happy and safe, no tricks."

"Sssh..." Her face got close to hers, such loving eyes she had, but all false. "That's all I needed to know, tell me everything- I can advise you." A finger dragged over her trembling lip. She still felt like she was being seduced.

"We- we." Sansa felt she had succumbed to whatever magic this woman had cast. "We already have an advisor!" She snapped quickly. If it hadn't had come out quickly, it wouldn't have come out at all.

"Yes, Davos." Melisandre said with distaste, withdrawing from her subject. "A gentle, but stubborn man." She was dismissive, but suddenly changed her tune, moving in for the kill again."But surely you must know... the lord of light has shined on him, and he casts a very large shadow, he serves your King well when it comes to war and strategy, that makes him a servant to the lord of light whether he knows it or not."

Very clever. She tried not to be so gullible, if this had been said to her years earlier she would have gobbled it up. "And what's my purpose for the lord of light?" Sansa hadn't forgotten she had visited her, and her alone.

"In time, an heir...maybe." Meliandre appeared to be testing the water. Metaphorically. "An heir for the champion, another second generation champion." The fireplace captivated the witch's attention, so it gave Sansa time to gather herself.

"That was my purpose anyway, my only purpose." She was uncomfortable with such talk, it reminded her of her issues, and phobias. Now she was sad again, instead of angry and afraid. "Seems unlikely as ever." A croak had crept into her voice as if stifling a cry.

The witch turned, and she was forced to put her guard up again. "Why?- You aren't Barren." She said boldly. "And you are attracted to handsome men, with titles..."

Sansa thought those weren't the only attributes you needed to have an heir. With titles. "I'm not as shallow as you think I am."

"No, but it does help to be selective. But when given the choice between 5 individuals, who do you pick?"

"5?" Sansa was never given a pick. Was the witch misinformed? It was never her choice. "Women have to do what there told in a dangerous world, I can't say no, imagine the repercussions. Where have I been given 5 choices?"

"Joffrey, Tyrion, Ramsay, Jon, and the unknown; the stranger." Melisandra gestured as if she was presenting a banquet.

Sansa was fuming. "How dare you?! They weren't choices. Joffrey was a royal command."

"Which you accepted, many opportunities came to abort."

Sansa put up her second finger. "Number two; Tyrion, I was a forced to marry, I was surrounded by the enemy, they dragged me down that aisle."

"Dragged?"

"My wedding to Ramsay was arranged, and he raped me!"

"A little man arranged a wedding and told you to go along with it, you could have cast this little man aside and gone straight back to the vale."

Sansa was irked. "Jon?- What of Jon?"

"You sought him out, once you knew where he was, you made a bee-line for him."

"There was nowhere else to go, he was the last family I had." She was nearly in tears.

"You say was, he still is your family, a cousin in blood, and husband by marriage, and you still had two remaining brothers, you knew they had survived that betrayal. Jon's not just family."

"Our marriage was arranged by members of the north."

"They didn't drag you down the aisle, they wouldn't have killed you if you had refused." Melisandre tucked a strand of hair behind the Queen's ear, then stroked under her chin- like she was some dog.

Sansa mumbled something incoherent; she didn't think the witch could read minds, so she kept it locked away. Such words would cause the world to fall apart. "You don't know the circumstances."

The witch wasn't the type to laugh in one's face, she smiled- a toothless self assured smile. "If I know all about you, and I know about Jon, then...what else do you think I know, I know everything, child."

"So you know the future?" She waited for Melisandre to nod, before dealing a blow. "Did you foresee Stannis's death after grooming him as the lord of light's champion?" And then the red woman's self-assured face was gone. Sansa suddenly felt like a player of a game she didn't understand. "What hope does Jon have, with an adviser like you?" She didn't give it a tone of mockery, in case everything backfired. So in the end she posed a question.

The witch licked her teeth under her lips. "I misread flames in which I saw Stannis Bartheon, all what I put on Stannis should have gone to Jon. The lord of light works in mysterious ways, I believe my lord showed me Stannis because he would take me to Jon, Stannis was a messenger. The potential is still there, and it's in Jon."

"Everybody you saw potential in has died." Sansa drew closer to the fire, having been away from it too long.

Melisandre saw it as an opportunity. "Yes, and Jon has already died, and he came back." She ran her hand down the queen's spine, the girl was tall, she had quite a journey. "The lord of light brought him back, and the lord cleared the path to bring you to castle black." She snuck her chin onto Sansa's shoulder, bringing her mouth to the young woman's ear. "Look into the fire, my Queen."

Sansa was already looking into the flames and all she saw was light, she could feel its heat on her eyes. She blinked. "I see fire."

"Look into its centre."

Sansa saw nothing, was she supposed to see Jon riding a dragon? The core was so bright, it was white as snow, but it burned –"I see fire, lots of fire."

She heard the witch sigh and walk off somewhere, probably to the window. Maybe she was going to throw herself through it. The Queen continued to stare into the fire, that's when she heard a scream. Sansa lurched back and turned expecting to see a broken window and shreds of red. The priestess was still there, she twisted around to look at her, surprised. "What?- Did you see something?"

Sansa clearly knew the witch hadn't heard it, and she didn't want to give her the satisfaction. You can't say, she was right. But she didn't see anything, but she heard a sound in the flames. So the red witch was wrong, ha! There was no image in the flames, only sound.


	8. 8

"I can dress myself, thank you very much." Jon's voice was heard from the other room.

Sansa listened to Podrick scurrying out of the bedchamber, she could just see her King through the gap in door, she returned her attention to the fire. It had consumed her interest, ever since she had heard the scream. She didn't let on to the red woman the reason she was hovering so close to the fire, she said she was merely cold.

"Are you sulking in there?" Jon called, as if that would coax her into dining with him. Sansa shot a glare through the gap, he wasn't in it. He was out of sight, probably brooding. Hearing the rustle of fabric, took all the anger out of her, it was replaced with that fear. Just look at the fire. It was spitting, no screams were emitting from it, but she held out hope. The second time around she will be able to identify the screams.

CREAK

She looked across the room and wished she hadn't, she saw Jon standing shirtless, unabashed, in the doorway. Consume yourself with the fire. "What do you want?" Don't ask that.

"Looks like you made a start to getting ready, what happened?" He mused, strutting into the room. He nudged the bath with his boot. "You made a bit of a mess." He stood over her, she used the mirror to view him, it was much easier, except for the fact he was still shirtless in the reflection. There were faint scars across his abdomen, nothing that took away from the whole physique, but enough for her to want to trace them... Just look at the fire. Jon had some bumps up and down his torso, some were probably bone, but there were some uniform bumps lower down- like he was carrying pups. She stared hard as if waiting for the bumps to move, or kick.

"Did your handmaiden abandon yer?" He touched her hair; it was still sodden, and sticky. She remained as silent as the grave. "Not talking, is not the way to go."

"I dismissed her, she's probably somewhere." Sansa finally spoke, and at the same time became aware she was wearing her chamber robe. It was gaping at the front, hopefully the monstrosity that was her hair- distracted him from that part of her anatomy. She adjusted it and stood. "Just leave, I can take care of this."

"Clearly not, that's been sitting in your hair for hours. Did you sit here waiting for an absent maid to wash it out?" He started to pull at it, every hair was attached to another and all tugged on her scalp.

"Stop it. I got distracted, I had a strange afternoon." She shuffled back from him and knelt to test the water in the tub, it had remnants of oil already in, but it was a lot less than what was on her head. She then bent over the rim and dipped her head into the bath, using her hand to swish out what she could. "I had a visit from an old friend of yours." Since he was still there watching her bending over into a bath, she might as well talk to him. He ended up squatting over her.

"The water is drowning you out." He, without warning clasped her hands to halt her ministrations. "Say it again."

"I had a visit from the woman in red." She didn't milk it further, since he was too close, she thought he would move off of her once he got a reply. But he still hung over her like a shadow, lean stomach on her back, his arms either side of her head, with a fist full of her hair. "I've got to get this out, release my hair."

"The red priestess?" He ignored her request, and began to manipulate her hair himself, cupping water and pouring it onto the back of her head. "She shouldn't be here, how she get in?"

"Sorcery." She mumbled. "No one should have that kind of power."He was almost sitting on her back, she couldn't even try to move away, not without flooring him.

"She may have power, but she can't influence me." He was good at rinsing; she supposed it was because he had an unruly mass of curls he had to wash repeatedly himself. His hair must get full of blood. It felt like he was approaching the end of the wash, since he was wringing her mane. Sansa tried to take control, by fingering through the ends of her hair and reversing through his legs. "Hang on, sweetheart." He was gripping it tightly like reins on a horse. And he steered her back between his legs. How undignified.

"I can do the rest." She protested, and he put wet fingers into her ear. "Uck, not the ears." He was removing the oil from them, and taking his sweet time too. The wringing started again. "Done?"

"Yep, oof." Then he dismounted her, Sansa knew she was free, except he still had a handful of her hair. She slowly stood up, but it felt like he was winching her with the mane. "There." He reached either side of her head and split the mass into two pieces and brought them over her shoulder. "Kissed by fire." He had trouble releasing the last strand, as the opportunity would go once it fell through his fingers.

She didn't know what he meant, the word fire had rung in her ears most of the day. For the past two nights she had dreamt her Jon was dancing in a pyre, and with the possibility of Jon being a dragon, it made sense. Sansa dreamt of that, and howling wolves. Ghost wasn't much of a howler, though she knew there were wolves in the neighbouring forests, but her instinct told her she was dreaming of lady. The queen was pining for her long lost direwolf.

The fireplace roared in front of her, and there was another heat source behind her- playing with her hair. Confound the gods, for creating such a puzzle. Sansa withdrew from the space he had held her in, the other chamber beckoned her, and that room wasn't on fire. She noted there was a dress on the bed, one she was expected to wear."I'm still not-"

"-What did she want?" Jon was dithering behind her, she heard something thud on the other side of the room, and with a quick inspection she found he had removed his boots and kicked them at a chest of drawers.

"What she wanted last time." Sansa merely toyed with the sleeves of the dress on the bed, she always got hypersensitive when people were busying themselves changing their clothes or undressing in her presence. I'll never get used to it.

"She said she wants to serve me, well she can't. Her way of serving me is..." Jon rumbled, and she heard everything, even the cuss at the end. She thought he was going to say sacrifice, but it was a crude term he used instead- nothing a good woman should hear. Sansa saw his trousers land on the chair by the bed. "She'll be lucky." He rumbled. "She didn't stand a chance when I was in the watch, she's not going to stand a chance now I'm married." He slid into her peripheral vision, rummaging through a wardrobe. She secreted the dress back into the wardrobe while his attention was diverted, and pulled out her nighty.

"I doubt marriage teaches a man discipline." Sansa was saying it to herself, but she voiced it very openly. She bit her lip when she heard him close a drawer heavy handily.

"You'd be surprised."

Sansa couldn't bite her tongue, probably since she was facing the other way it gave her an air of confidence. "Men do what they like, it's the order of the world, why do you think the world is full of bastards?" Careful.

"That's not the type of husband I'm going to be." His voice was too distant for him to be facing in her direction. Maybe, he was scared of her too?

"But you'll be my husband, grudgingly-"

"Ey, are you starting again?"

Now she knew he was facing her, it sounded different. But luckily she still couldn't see his face."If she doesn't stand a chance now that you're married-"She imitated his voice. "Are you saying she is still in with a chance otherwise? she's an attractive woman- you so would have had her. As if parading our marriage around in front of me was going to make me feel any better, that you are going to restrain yourself for the sake of me, then just forget it." Was it supposed to be bittersweet? The air was charged again, and she knew he would be closer the next time he spoke, he wouldn't let her get away with that. Sansa already felt lousy she had gone back on her promise to herself she was going to be submissive. Now she had to contend with the shadow of a dead man being cast over her.

"Why would I need her? When I've got you." Oh lord, this would be a very strange sort of punishment. His arms were slow, they wrapped around her tight, across her arms, locking them to her chest, where she had balled them in defence. It was probably too late to protect the cord of the robe, but she could protect the neckline. They were fused together. There were only two thin sheets of fabric between her buttocks and the sword, and she didn't have a clue what to do. Her soaked hair was being pressed into the back of her robe, it was bleeding through to the skin, and she was certain he had rivets of water running down his chest. "I'd have to be mad to go elsewhere." She heard him say.

That is touching, but right now- she wanted to be elsewhere. He didn't know of course, she couldn't offend him this time. With her hands still clenched, she froze, she refused to whimper. If you reject him so many times- something horrible could happen. The horrible was unimaginable; literally, she didn't see rape, or death, but banishment into the unknown, annulled marriage, followed by another marriage more frightful, or spinsterhood. They'll wonder why you have been rejected 3 times, they could come to the conclusion you are barren. What if she was? Sansa was lucky not to have been impregnated by Ramsay, and when her flower did bloom, she bled heavily all week. That earned her a beating from Ramsay.

Black curls filled her side vision, and she felt them against her cheek, they were soft, but the beard a little coarse, he was pecking at the side of her neck. It wasn't that bad, the bristle was scratchy, but tickly, and the lips were soft, and they were bigger then they looked. He spread his lips over her skin, and moistened her neck as he drew them closed. These were smooches, not bites, not like Ramsay. Ramsay would bruise or tear her flesh. Early days she would cry during such administrations, cry until she was numb. So his consummations were like flogging a dead horse during her final days as Sansa Bolton.

Jon un-caged her gently, stroking her arms as he withdrew. She was surprised, her arms dropped back to her side and when she unclenched she saw welts on her palms, she masked them as Jon appeared at her side. "They have lemon cakes, downstairs."

The Queen met his expression of mirth, with one of her own. "Damn you."


	9. 9

Davos and Sam were firm friends already, a rapport that would probably last many years. They couldn't sit to eat until Jon had come in. Davos used the opportunity to size up the rest of the Tarlys. "It's ridiculous how this man puts his back to us." He was cussing into his goblet, gesturing at Randyll. "You think he'd favour the King's advisor, and the King's friend- he doesn't know of the grand position he'll be put in."

"Well, that's me' father for ya. When he holds a grudge, it's for a lifetime. Not even a lifetime of gifts will ever break him down." Sam drank, a little too quickly. "Uh...eck, oops, sorry." Some had dribbled down his chin, he coughed, after he had recovered, he felt compelled to ask- "I wonder if I'll get a knighthood."

Though Davos liked this man, he wouldn't approve of such things being handed out willy-nilly. "Who knows, you need to be able to perform a great feat in his presence, try a good resurrection." He jested, feeling slightly awkward afterward, because it would open a whole can of worms.

"I bet it was some kind of blood magic..." Sam was as unsettled as the older gent. "I wouldn't be inclined to..." He shivered, forcing down another drink.

"It was some kind of magic, but it weren't blood magic. I've seen some devil magic; baby made of black smoke, men with eyes of white and sapphire. It's not an anecdote I can to share."

"No need." The portly chap was always spooked.

The main doors opened, and the King walked in with the Queen, looking as radiant as ever on his arm, but subdued.

"Well, fuck me." Davos uttered, clearly Sam didn't know why he was so surprised. But he hoped it wasn't fear that had brought Sansa down.

"Is that her?" Sam said a little too loud, and Davos shushed him.

"My King and Queen." He felt obligated to be overly courteous, the room needed to know how important this union was, and how their guests courtesy was also required.

"Finally, a good sit down and a meal." Jon announced, gesturing for the other men dithering to seat themselves. "Sorry to have kept you waiting." He released his wife from his leather clad arm.

"Nonsense your grace, we understand the honeymoon period can be...distracting." Randyll was full of mirth, and he approached Sansa, looking from her shoes to her hair. "By eck, I can imagine the wedding ceremony was a quick one, one shouldn't waste time with formalities." Sansa smiled, understanding what he meant, all the men found it funny, she unfortunately didn't. "Your grace." He finally spoke to her officially, and she put her hand in his.

There were lemon cakes, she wanted to devour every single one of them. And so did Jon by the looks of it, he stared at every morsel that approached her mouth. So the King was fond of lemon cakes, who knew? But it was unseemly for a woman to have a ferocious appetite, an appetite for food suggested an appetite for sex. Though shouldn't she let their guests believe they had consummated, and would continue so? There was also the fear of weight gain, she remembered what Lysa had told her. Though Lysa was a bitter woman, it could have just been a slight.

She ate another lemon cake, first breaking it into pieces to make it look less colossus and more dainty. She wasn't sure it would be right to lick her thumb and finger afterward. Though it wasn't like she would stick her whole finger into mouth and slop, like the men did. Sam was being nudged on the elbow every time he refilled his plate. Poor fellow.

The chit chatter drowned out sounds of chewing, this she can be grateful for. Davos was eating, while talking to her husband, about ships and isles of sapphire. She had already spoken to each of Tarlys, they were charming- but so were the Tyrells. Samwell looked as if he was going to say something to her, so she smiled to acknowledge him. Yes?

The advisor on the other side of the table rubbed crumbs from his fingers with the table runner. "How did you get her down?" He uttered to his King while everybody was involved in a different conversation.

"I told her I was King, and I expected her here." Jon was looking anywhere but the person in question. "That's all it took." He cleared his throat and drank some wine, the older gent merely nodded- he couldn't argue with that.

"Was she in good spirits?"

Jon put down the goblet. "Why?" It sounded like the King was trying to incriminate him. "Are you asking if she put up a fight, did I drag her down, did I threaten her? No, as a matter of fact, I didn't." He pulled on his tunic, glancing across at his wife who was engrossed in a conversation. "She let me touch her today." He said it as an afterthought, reaching for more food.

Try not to laugh. The older gent bit into a bread cob. "That's wonderful, your grace." He was deadpan and mumbly. "But, doesn't she do that anyway..." He had his jesting eyes on, he was all eyebrow and no mouth.

"Don't play dumb, Davos." He was gruff even if the conversation was anecdotal. "And if you think I meant holding hands and frolicking, that's a step in the wrong direction." Jon was having quite a lot of wine.

You'd think if his king was on the verge of making a wife out of this woman, he would want to be sober. "If you have ever seen any oil paintings titled frolicking- they are normally of naked women, and that sounds quite saucy to me." Jon was chortling into his goblet. Davos needed to make one thing clear. "Do you think it wise to be drunk, tonight, your grace?"

Jon scrutinised him, while refilling his goblet in retaliation. "I'm not drunk, I'd have to drink thrice as much to get pissed."

"Your wife...might not...like it."

The goblet came down. "Oh she'll like it." Jon said with not a trace of mirth, Davos thought he could have at least turned it into a joke, it very nearly was a threat. "She'll have to put up with it, I can perform with or without wine."

This man needs a sedative, or his head rung like a bell. Davos cleared his throat. "I could give you something better, I can have some Possyt made."

Sam's voice rung out at the table. "We've brought possyt!" Everyone stopped to stare at him. Davos must have forgot to lower his voice, but Jon appeared concerned because, if Sam had managed to hear that, what else could he have been heard, and what of Sansa? Davos knew talking about each other behind their backs wouldn't be a sweet marriage.

Sansa looked from one to the other. "I've heard of possyt, is it some seeded cake?"

Randyll stared across at her. "No, sweet Queen, it's a hot soothing creamy drink with vanilla and nutmeg, which I'm very surprised you haven't heard of, don't they make such things in the north?"

Jon looked very peed off, he had a reckless slump into one side of the chair. "No, we have ale, and mead, and wine. We don't need anything fancy." Davos got the impression Jon was about to hurl some abuse, luckily Sansa was keen to try some possyt.

"You said you have some, do you carry it all the way from Horn hill?- I hope it's still fresh."

Davos wondered if this was Sansa's attempt to smooth things over, or to undermine the King. "I'm sure we have those ingredients to make some of our own, and not diminish the Tarlys supply, because it's very moreish." The adviser said gently, but Jon was deathly silent.

Sam was quite gleeful he had started a discussion that involved the whole table. "We wouldn't mind, it's needs to be used."

Sansa frowned. "If it is as lovely as you say, why do you have any to spare?"

"Wedding gift." Sam said, and his father seemed to do an odd jerk, Sansa believed it was a kick Sam under the table- because Samwell jumped a foot into the air. "Ah wait, gift, sorry, just a gift. We, of course didn't know about any such wedding. So I could say from this point...it's a wedding gift."

Sansa glanced over at her King, a conversation went undetected through them, 'that was odd'- 'Yeah, it was' – 'Are we accepting this or not?' Jon sat up. "That's very kind of you, I think I have been convinced into sampling some possyt, my wife's keen." She couldn't tell if that heated look was anger, or admiration. How can you get those mixed up?

Randyll clapped his hands. "Excellent, we shall unload the barrel, we'll have it sent to the kitchens once we're done."

"Or perhaps you could do it now?" Jon said, resting his chin on his hand, his finger strayed up to stroke his beard. Making it obvious, he wasn't in the mood to wait.

The Queen noticed Davos give her a quick thumbs up. It was so fluid she nearly missed it. What on earth..? Randyll had already left the table to speak to one of his men, she could see some urgency, it was only a drink.

The drink was good. It held up to its description; it was smooth, creamy, spiced, and she was sure there were traces of lemon, she drank deeply, humming as she did, and she politely asked for a second, which was granted, and that too was down her throat faster than a lemon cake. It was after her 6th in the evening, she realised it had given her an alcoholic aftertaste. When she commented, Davos explained the drink was mixed with a spoon of sweet wine. "And- be careful." He added, before Jon retorted harshly-

"-Belt up, Davos, let her drink her fill."

"You are sweet to me." The queen smiled, stroking the top of her husband's knuckles. "I have a new favourite thing." Her head slowly leant on the side of his chair, until Jon adjusted her against his shoulder. "Never let me go a day without this."

Jon couldn't stop smirking. Oh heck. Davos was hoping the recipe of the possyt, would have the original desired effect; drowsiness, and uninterrupted sleep. But at this moment, he was seeing elevated levels of happiness, but a calm happiness. "I was just saying, it's very rich, perhaps you should save some for the morning?"

"Morning?- What for...hey." Jon sounded like he was about to call Davos for a fight, he seemed to grip his shoulder hard enough to incite that kind of reaction. "Is that what good advice sounds like, take possyt in the morning?!" His voice was booming, Sansa who was starting to slump, but the noise woke her up.

"It's morning already?"

"No, sweet wife, this man and I were talking about morning." He said at her as if she were across the room, not merely a chair away, as she was."But that reminds me, we have to go to bed at some point!" His voice was still at a ridiculous volume. Thank heavens, their guests had bid them goodnight at the first goblet. Sansa's head drooped towards the table once more, until it settled on the crumbed surface. Yep, she was gone."In fact, we'd better go right now, while I'm still-" Davos averted his eyes when Jon grabbed his crotch.

The older gent placed a steady hand on his king's arm. "Your grace, I doubt you will be able to-"

"-Shut the fuck up." He jolted the hand off him. "You and your possyt." He rumbled. The advisor tried not the flinch, but he did blink- that was the loudest yet, and yet it had not disturbed Sansa. Jon was over her again, he swept her hair to one side so could look upon her face. "Bloody great, why the hell did anyone think possyt would make a good gift to newlyweds, you give a girl warm milk she's bound to turn into a sleeping babe."

"I suppose it was its purpose, to be a sedative for nervous brides and bridegrooms, it was once used for insomnia."

"You knew what you were doing, why didn't you just spike our drinks with bloody essence of nightshade?"

"I hate the risk." He said honestly, but realised he had incriminated himself by admitting he wanted to put them to sleep. "You both need a good rest." He added, trying to be soothing as possible."You can't expect anything from her tonight."

Jon toyed with his bride's auburn hair and said gently."Beggars can't be choosers." He stooped, tucked an arm under her legs and put the other around her back and lifted her out of the chair.

Davos was dumbfounded. Had he accepted what he had said? This was Jon Snow, he was honourable so; yes he would. Sansa's head had lolled off away from her body, until it was correctly supported on the shoulder of the King. It looked sweet. The guards opened the doors as he walked out and down the hall. Seeing the mass of leather and black hair, with red locks draped over one arm looked like something out of a book. The advisor remained in the hall as the servants came to clear the tables. He smiled at the empty cake plates, and pitchers of possyt. Beggars can't be choosers? He looked to the now closed door. You can't expect anything from her tonight- followed by – Beggars can't be choosers. He suddenly felt nauseous, that sounded very... Davos then walked in haste towards the doors.


	10. 10

Davos burst into the King and Queen's chamber, it was against protocol, and rude to boot. He surveyed the room, the King was just looking across at him with surprise, his wife was draped across the bed, still clothed, with Jon laying on top of her legs, leaning over her, hands about her ribs. He believed if Sansa had been alert she would be in pain. Though he considered he might have just walked in as Jon had put her down, and had lost his balance. That seems more accurate.

"Your majesty...I...forgive me- I forgot to wish you goodnight." He felt bloody stupid. "So Goodnight."

Jon looked as if he didn't believe a word, he straightened, and tugged at his tunic. "Right, and now you have, what's wrong?" He stood firm, and Davos did as well. "Why are you...?- If you think I'm going to let you stand there and watch, then you have completely misjudged my character." He jested, and it did anything but break the tension.

Watch what?- Gods be damned! His advisor weighed up his options on what to say."-With all due respect, your grace, I think you should call for your wife's handmaiden."

"I'm sure if I manage to arouse her, she can get herself ready, if not... I can be of some assistance, putting on a nightie looks simple enough." It was a low rumble, which held some jollity. "...Why are you still here?"

"I really think you need a maid right now."

"I'm not getting a maid involved!" He grumbled, then there was a sudden change in his demeanour as sort of annoyed thoughtfulness. "Wait- you weren't suggesting...?" He cocked a brow. "As a mistress?!"

Holy shit. The older gent was surprised he didn't yell that for the whole castle to hear. "Your grace, I meant for the handmaiden to help ready your wife for sleep." He was hoping some reasoning would sink into his charge, surely Jon could hear himself, rethink, and look at Sansa as a woman he grew up with. "Please, I beg of you, a marriage needs to be based on trust, you would be violating that trust, and you would be violating her." He suddenly had an image of Shireen screaming for her father. "You can't undo such a mistake."

"You do realise I was going to wake her up first! Gods! I'm her husband, I'm sure she would want to be in bed with the right attire. Gods, Davos!" Jon messed with his hair, turning his back on the thing that infuriated him. "She would have woken up at some point, either before, during or...afterwards!"

Oh gods, he should have stopped there, afterwards?- After what the dressing or the bedding? The adviser felt the room had become too hot, it must be because of the pent up frustration. Jon finally relented, he grimaced, and cussed. "Send for the fucking handmaiden." He snared his night shirt and stormed off into the other room, and Davos felt everything slacken. He had most likely saved her, he wasn't sure what from, perhaps he was simply dressing her, but the act could lead to temptation. Sansa still lay comatose on the bed, looking radiant and peaceful, she murmured and rolled slightly. Why would Jon do such a callous act? As he got closer he saw her skirt had been slightly hitched up at the front, it was only the external layer, nothing was on show, buts its manner made him feel very nervous. That could have been an accident.

He threw open the chamber door and called down the hall. "Agnes?.. Someone call for Agnes, the queen needs attending to!" Perhaps he could remain here afterwards to make sure nothing- You can't guard Sansa forever. "Where is that blasted gir-" A woman emerged from the darkness of the hall. "Aa...Agnes, dress your queen for bed."

"Might I ask what are you doing in here at this hour?" The girl was impudent.

He did a double take. "I'm here... for the interests of the King, and that is ser to you, mi'lady." Though he highly doubted she was a lady.

She waltzed past him and patted down her grace's skirt. "Where is our King, Ser?" She pulled Sansa into a sitting position, a little fast and rough.

The Queen murmured prettily. "Mmh." It was odd how something so lazy was made graceful by the queen.

Davos stared at Agnes for an unprecedented length of time before tipping his head towards the other chamber. "He's in there."

She started by unpicking the tie on the Queen's outer robe."And will you be supervising me, while I undress her, ser?" Just as he studied the woman again, Sansa stirred.

"Is... it ...morning?" She moaned as her maid pulled the dress off her shoulders.

"No your grace, it's bedtime, I must help you get ready." Agnes smiled at her Queen, she had doe-like eyes as she looked from the handmaiden to the advisor. She weakly pushed at her aid, as if feebly protesting. "No..." It came out as slow as a snail. "What's going on?" She said with such childlike delirium, and Davos felt himself melt bearing witness to it. "Why are you... both here?"

The advisor glanced to the other chamber. Jon was not present. "The dinner has ended, I was just talking to his majesty- I'll be off now, your grace. Goodnight." He made to leave, and until he heard further delirium.

"No...not you...get away from me!"

Davos turned, Sansa was fighting off her handmaiden. "Your grace, she is only trying to help." He tried, and it became apparent the maid wasn't backing down despite being swotted. "Perhaps, since she is alert you should-" Jon suddenly entered his line of vision, he was standing intrusively behind the maid. "Oh dear me."

"I think that's enough." He clapsed at his wife's swotting hand, and pulled the maid up by the shoulder- Davos could see he was trying to be courteous. "She obviously doesn't want you undressing her tonight, you may go..." He waved his hand, not knowing how to address the woman. "Sorry-"

"- Agnes, your grace."

Davos was certain he heard her purr, she would have to go- "Off you go then, mi'lady." And he was happy to see her scuttle off without a protest. He made sure she was well out of the way before commenting. "Her attitude is very unusual, if I-"He heard a scuffle to his left-

"Woaw." Jon was crawling over the bed trying to apprehend his wife, she had rolled herself to the other side of the bed in an attempt to get away. From him, she was in a good mood earlier? Jon had seized her after it was too late, she had rolled off the bed and was on the floor. "Bloody hell, she's going to be covered in bruises." Her outer dress hanging off at the waist, she crawled away, and Jon crudely stood on an empty sleeve of her dress to halt her, and she fell on her side, stuck in her own dress.

"Your graces." Davos uttered on deaf ears. Sansa was eating up all the sound, her dress rustling as she writhed about on the floor.

"Sweetheart, you're tangling yourself, stop fighting." His King said with the genteelness of a septa, walking over her so she was between his two feet. Sansa ceased all struggles, and just rolled onto her back, she stared at the ceiling as if recovering from a nightmare. Breathing heavily, sweet shimmering on her face and collar. "Hey." He squatted, nearly sitting on her. "Hey now." Davos noticed Jon was only trying to get her attention. "Sansa."

The movement in her eye indicated she had indeed been looking elsewhere, but was now looking at her husband. "I want to go home." Her voice was no longer slurring. "I want to be at home."

Davos watched as Jon shifted onto his knees, he was practically straddling her now. "You are home." His hand moved to her cheek.

"Maybe I should go, I feel like a third wheel over here." The advisor shuffled away from the intimacy of the situation. Jon called over, causing him to ease up before the door.

"I forgot you were still here."

"Well, I'm not here." The advisor bowed his head. "I bid you goodnight." And he left very stiffly, he couldn't bring himself to close the door behind him, he was moody, and unsettled by everything. The maid, the King, and Sansa- she wanted to go home. Agnes, there was something strange about her, well she was rude for a handmaiden for a queen. He didn't normally let such trivial things bother him, he normally grew to like the people that were stubborn. But this Agnes, had not yet been polite to him and all the time she had worked there, even when not interacting with him, she would stare- no not stare; smoulder. After dithering outside, the door suddenly clicked shut.

In her confusion after waking up, she assumed this was some delayed bedding ceremony, two people were present in her chambers, undressing her. Well Davos was standing there looking a little gormless. But Agnes, had intent etched on her face, and she knew the maid was the witch. To say she was anxious was an understatement, so she struggled, and it paid off, but the commotion had drew her husband into the fray.

Soon as the witch left her side, she noted groggily her husband in his nightshirt. It was indeed bedtime. Sansa felt cold, and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her shoulders were bare, she was down to her shift, her dress bunched up at the waist. Sansa could see the tops of her breasts above her shift. Seven heavens, I'm naked. Since her husband was directly in front of her watching the witch leave, she couldn't barge past- after all she was naked.

The queen was compelled to get to the other chamber or at least the modesty screen, she heaved her legs up and rolled, the roll reminded her she was in no fit state for such a manoeuvre. She felt something fawning over her as she travelled across the bed. Tentacles...no talons of a dragon! Do dragons have talons? Sansa then dropped off the end of the earth. Ugh-the bed is too small. She was on the floor, and Jon was about to step down from the bed, she thought he was going to crush her, so she hurriedly crawled away across the flag stones. There was a rapid sensation of a rug being pulled from under her and she flopped onto the stone. When she tried to regain her crawl stance she couldn't move further than a couple of inches, upon her investigation she found his foot was on her sleeve. There was no chance. She was stuck in her dress, she could have got out of the dress with a little effort but she would just have a shift between her skin and the air. So she rolled onto the sleeve staring up at the heavens- tired and full of defeat. He was over her now, but she couldn't focus on that- she didn't know if he had anything on under his long shirt.

"Hey." He squatted, which was a risky manoeuvre. "Hey now." What did he want? He was close, he smelt of leather and musk. A smell she knew from home."Sansa."

Sansa looked into those stormy eyes, she wanted to know what he was seeing. Did he actually see a literal storm?- Or was it fire, did his death replay in his head? He always looked angry, she figured he saw his murderers more than his dying moments.

The queen got a fleeting image of how Winterfell used to be before she left for King's landing. Then an image of Jon standing in the courtyard discussing pranks with Arya. "I want to go home." She heard herself, she was imploring. "I want to be at home."

His hard face dissolved into a vexed one, but whatever face he had- it was still Jon. He clambered down onto his knees, hovering over her pelvis, poised to sit on her. If anybody else had done this, it would have been a threat. But this was her husband straddling her.

"You are home." He crooned with a husk, his hand went to her cheek, his callous thumb moved over her skin to her upper lip.

That's when Davos spoke. Oh crap, how embarrassing, forgot you were still there. She didn't acknowledge him, but she did watch Jon vent her own thoughts. She spent this time studying his face. He had a feminine face, but the brow, if it weren't for the brow, and the beard- he would make a handsome woman, but a sad woman. When Jon wasn't scolding, she would catch him when he was sad. That sadness would haunt his persona when he was young, when his eyes weren't crinkling with laughter, he would brood. But still, it was a face you could grow to love...that's probably the possyt talking.

At some point she heard their benevolent advisor leave.

Her hand strayed, she stroked her husband knee next to her waist. "Tell me what you're thinking." Sansa asked. He hadn't taken his eyes off her, not even when talking to Davos.

"I could ask you the same thing, at least someone will get an answer."

Was he saying she was a talker, a typical woman who nattered away her jaw, or was he admitting to being stubborn when it came to sharing his sombre feelings?

He was agile as he leapt up off her without falter. Her King crossed the room to the shut the door, and she slowly sat up from her heap of tangled fabric, he returned to get her to get her feet. His hand came out and she reached for it with little hesitation. Jon yanked her up with a bit of force, all so he could pull her into him, close as anybody could get; nose to nose. Sansa was inundated with his scent and eyes, and she feared she would swoon, but she knew she would regret doing that, since a swoon could lead to anything. And she was scared of...everything.

She was still groggy, so she couldn't fight the force, she slumped forward. Sansa probably reeked of possyt and chicken, but it didn't matter; he was sucking in her air like it was perfume, and he traced it back to her mouth. His lips became a part of hers, caressing the upper and lower, his tongue flitted into the gap- skimming her teeth. They were slow ministrations, slow enough that they weren't intrusive or overwhelming. Her eyes had closed, feeling the wet heat of his desire, the taste of wine, and there were noises too. Murmurs of interest, that was until he suddenly pressed her close and plundered her mouth. That woke her up for sure, that's when the panic set in, and she opened her eyes, he was holding her head in place as he began to devour. Her attempt at speaking terminated the frenzy. "-Myour gwace!-"

He reared back, chucking his hair from his face, and still clutching his wife's head. "Oh bloody hell." He looked at her bruised mouth waiting for an explanation to come out of it. "You can call me Jon, what is it, sweetheart?"

"I'm tired." That's probably not what he wanted to hear, but she had said it, and she had most likely crushed his hopes of a consummation. "Sorry, Jon." She stroked one of the hands that were on her droopy face, embarrassed by her meek retort.

It was a middling of a smile he gave her, it was assuring- at least he wasn't mad. But the guttural sound that escaped him would make any woman's bosom heave with fear. His forehead fell to hers, and she allowed it to sit there, mixing their sweat. "Not as sorry as I." He said with defeat. But she questioned why in her mind.

She felt her dress hanging from her, tugging on her shift. She withdrew cagily. "I'd better finish off-" Indicating to her state of dress. The divider beckoned her, and with her possyt addled brain she staggered to it, nearly knocking it over. She finally reached the shadow of the divider to hide and de-robe.

"I wish someone would finish me off." She heard him rumble. But he already had his nightshirt on?

She rustled out of her things and slipped into her nightgown. Her fingers went to her mouth as if feeling for the traces of Jon that remained, she could taste the wine and smell the musk. Sansa emerged quicker than the last time, ignoring him standing gormlessly in the middle of the room, ruffling his own hair. She clambered into bed, tugging the sheet to her chin. The Queen watched Jon meander to their bed. He came at the bedside with a bit of a plod in his step, and he slipped under the sheet, close to her, their sides touching.

"Can I take off my shirt?"

She blinked unevenly."Did you sleep well without it last night?" It came out at an odd pitch since her body was attempting to yawn. "You might be cold."

Jon gurned as if he wasn't sure. "I sleep the same every night; badly, doesn't make a difference, shirt or nothing. I doubt I'll get cold."

Sansa didn't know how to reply to that comment, she had nothing to suggest. "Erm." He was waiting earnestly, a finger seemingly wagging his collar. He was hot. "Without." She said not making eye contact with him.

"Really?" Scrutinising this decision, somewhat bemused and surprised.

Sansa didn't like his glee. Well Jon wasn't the type to be gleeful, so it was mirth. "That doesn't mean I'm no longer tired, I intend to sleep in this bed tonight, and nothing more."

She heard him wrestling off the shirt, and then throw it to the floor. "You should try this sometime, love, it's liberating." Was he talking about being shirtless?

"It doesn't seem practical."

"It's very practical."

She just caught the end of his smile. "When women walk around coverless, it's anything but liberating." She put eloquently.

"Have you ever asked other women?- And I mean women below your station?" Jon inquired, he was still, while staring at the canopy.

"I don't think any women want to walk around naked, not even...those women." She faltered at the implication of prostitutes. "I suppose if there weren't any men about...then maybe." The queen continued cautiously. "Well, some women don't like being naked in front of women either. Nudity is only comfortable around oneself." Sansa had intentions to cease the conversation there and blow out her candle, she was tired after all.

"That would be a very lonesome world to live in, Sansa."

How could he possibly know she was talking about her? "It already is." Maybe he didn't, maybe he was just speaking in general. Sansa twisted her head to him. "How many people have you encountered in your lifetime you would approach unguarded and naked?"

Jon was very still, as she was, listening intently. "Naked and unarmed?- Well a few of my friends in the night's watch, then of course; Lord Stark, Robb, but I think their guard would be up if I approached them naked." He found that funny, she could hear him stifling a snigger, he gradually sobered- clearing his throat. "Probably you."

It hung in the air like a noose. When she sensed he was about to look at her, she made sure she was staring at the window by the time he did look. Sansa couldn't blow out the candle, it felt rude to end the conversation there. But what to say after that? "But you'd be exposed, you'd have nothing to hide."

"It's only you here." He laughed. "You're my wife, you're going to see it a lot." He cleared his throat immediately afterwards, and for the first time he sounded like he was embarrassed. This was how she remembered old Jon. "Occasionally." It was a correction, but it was a little too late.

She could feel the heat of his body through her nightgown, but at least it wasn't ice cold. This would be a bad time to shuffle away from it. "How many other women have seen it?" The queen didn't know where that came from, she swallowed when she heard herself. The void that followed made her mouth dry.

"Why do you ask this?"

The queen detected he was staring at her again. Sansa didn't believe it was jealousy that got her to pose this question."Have you ever been to a brothel?" Where was this coming from? She shuffled at that moment, just about an inch away, but she disguised it well. Her King rapidly turned on his side, his whole body directed at her. Thank goodness for the sheets. But the swift movement had been intimidating. "I'm not going to judge you if you did, I'm just curious, your grace, in fact you don't have to tell me, that's a stupid question... a stupid curiosity...Just ignore me." It was a ramble, surely that would annoy him? But she glimpsed teeth from the corner of her eye, it took her out of her festering thoughts of self-loathing. That was a smile, or silent laughter, maybe he was snarling?

"I've been to a brothel, well...tavern."

Sansa tried not to look surprised, though perhaps maybe she should out of respect? "O...Was it nice?" Stupid girl, why did you think he went there? But there was a tinge of disappointment, that he behaved like other men, men that she would flee from, men that weren't like her brother; Robb, and her father. Though for a time she had to accept her father had lay with another woman that wasn't her mother.

Jon finally rolled onto his back. "I was petrified."

She heard it, and listened out for his breathing. He was embarrassed. "By the brothel, or by the...act?" Her disappointment had ebbed away. She shouldn't ever doubt him as an honourable man.

"The brothel held so many women, and there was a time when they scared me."

"-I remember, you were so shy." She recalled a lesson she gave him on talking to girls.

He nudged her with his elbow. "Lesson 1; ask their name, lesson 2; compliment their name."

"-That's pretty." She echoed what she had suggested that day, and she heard him say it back. His voice had been different then."It was just before your voice broke." Her chortling matched Jon's own. "That voice wouldn't suit you now." The chortling continued, Sansa could feel it vibrating the bed. She sobered when she realised he hadn't finished the story. "So what did you do in the brothel?" Stupid girl.

He continued in a jovial manner as if he was still discussing her lessons."I went in with Theon, and he said we could choose." Sansa stared at the canopy, why did she ask? "I just stood there, as the women waited. Not all waited patiently, some came to me with their breasts..." He made a gesture to indicate they were on display. The queen stared at the space his hands occupied. "They sort of...fondled me." He had trouble letting that out, she wasn't surprised. "I remember hearing Theon laughing, it rang in my ears." Sansa could see it now, and hear the laughter. Poor Jon. Her husband continued. "They said, 'Can't yer speak, who do you want, boy?' and that's when I just pointed at one of the women..."

Sansa felt a blush come to her cheeks, she fixated on the canopy. She pictured a faceless woman with enormous breasts. "And did they give you a room?" How was she to know they didn't just drop to the tavern floor? "Somewhere private?"

"Yes, she guided me up stairs, and she brought me into one of the rooms of the tavern. And she just stripped off, everything. I had already seen her breasts, but now I could see belly...um...thighs, the auburn hair on her..."

Her face must have become a tomato, the blush had become a hot flush. She couldn't fan herself, she couldn't let her husband see her getting flustered with this conversation. "And did you?"

"No, I left."

Silence consumed them. She tore her eyes from the canopy to look at him. "Is that sarcasm?"

"No, I actually left." He said with slight disbelief. "She was right there, waiting, and I left."

A slow smile split her face. "I hope you still paid her."

Her king turned to her again. "That's a strange thing to say."

What? "She removed her clothes, let her guard down for you, revealed all- you looked, then you left, you should still pay her for the trouble."

Jon looked gormless. She remembered this from her past too. He laughed at the response. "I left her something, it wasn't much." He fell quiet again, probably letting the story sink in. She could see the cogs in his brain turning, she wasn't sure if it was guilt or embarrassment. "I'm not sure what I was going to afford anyway." He flipped onto his back again, expelling a sigh.

"If you couldn't afford it, why would you try, you weren't going to trick them, were you?" Her groggy state of mind gave her an edge, she felt herself yawn again, but the subject was anything but boring. "Have your wicked way with her and climb out of the window?" Bran used to be good at climbing. It was a random thought, which brought her sadness. The Queen found her King smirking at her. "What?"

"They have a list of things they can do, each a different price." He injected cagily, his head shifted on his pillow as if finally settling down to sleep, his head faced her and she had no urge to hide, she turned onto her side, facing him.

"What is the going rate for a girl?"

He frowned. "You really want to know of such things?"

"Yes." She tucked her clasped hands under her chin, staring at him inquisitively.

After some deliberation, he sighed."A groat."

"That's two loaves of bread." Sansa said with surprise. "You would have had her for two loaves of bread!"

"I knew I shouldn't have told you." She felt he was getting restless. "I only had half, but she didn't seem to mind, it felt like she was going to be generous." He said, again with a tinge of embarrassment. "I think for half she would have..." He raised his hand to do a gesture- but he faltered and dropped it to his chest. "I assumed."

"Never assume, Jon Snow." She said with mock severity. He returned a pensive look, it occurred to her that was anything but his name. "I'll miss your old name." She said carefully, hoping she hadn't offended him.

"A bastard name, one I never thought I would miss. I doubt you would have married me with such a name." There was curiosity there, he was testing her.

It wasn't as if she was given a choice, she had to correct him, but in a way that meant she was fine with the arrangement. "It was a popular opinion that we should marry, your name didn't matter...though probably that was because it was a false name." She tried a reassuring smile. "But what's in a name?- We should be judged on a fetes and choices rather than a title. If you were a bastard, I still would have named you 'king'."

The bed was very warm, and more so with his heated look. It wasn't anger, but she had no way of responding to it, or tame it.

"You've always been a Queen." He perpetuated his heated look, even when expressing this softly.

Sansa didn't think he was being sincere, she gave him a wary look. "I've always had a title, I didn't earn it, nor have I proven myself a Queen." She felt like her eyes were about to prickle with tears, she didn't let her emotions run awry. "I'm no real Queen, I'm the king's wife."

His hand snaked under the covers towards her, she felt his hand on her forearm. "Do you hate being a wife?...That is a very busy and rewarding profession, what more do you expect to do, you've done a marvellous job so far..."

"You're mocking me."

"Woaw- No." He stared her down. "I certainly wasn't, you coaxed me into assembling an army to take back Winterfell, you run the household like an army yourself, you've kept our private life, private-"

"We've only been married 2 days, and Davos seems to know more about us than we do." She calmed herself so they weren't heard. "Pretty soon the whole castle will know everything, I'm a fraud. Why do they expect something wonderful to happen in the first couple of days of being on a throne?" She felt his hand stroking her arm. "I envy how easy you find this."

"Find what...?"

Sansa stared incredulously at him, and gestured at him and the air around them. He clearly didn't see. "Everything!"

"That's very vague, love." Why did it always feel like he was secretly laughing at her? "What am I finding so easy?"

"A week ago I was married to a monster, you were supposedly dead." She heard Jon huff. "Next moment you were alive thanks to some magic, which has never existed until that moment, you weren't just resurrected- but you found out you are most likely not my bastard half brother, then I was widowed and then we married. And now the majority of the north expects our union to work just like magic, they don't seem at all bothered about our history, and they have high expectations that you are going to save the realms of men from ice monsters. It's too much." She stared hard at the man next to her, he was looking a little gormless.

He pushed himself up from his side. "You're right, I'm coping quite well... I think it's because we're sharing the burden." It was her turn to huff at this anti-climax. "The majority of what you said feels like you're concerned our marriage won't thrive under those conditions."

Sansa squinted at him. "Huh?"

Jon stroked the lump that was her hip, over the blanket. "Let me worry about this dark magic at work, I'll focus on future, you focus on present, take it a day at a time." His hand seemed to wander to her waist. "Wife." He crooned, extracting his hand from her person, he then twisted to his side table to blow out his candle. "We aren't proper siblings, so our consummation would hardly be scandalous, sweetheart." He heard her then puff out her own candle, and the room plunged into darkness. "Are you game?"

"Slip me a groat and I'll think about it."


	11. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised, this is the the chapter that mentions Brienne. I just had to go through them and see.

Sansa spent the next week briefing the servants on what was expected in the castle, Podrick had many recommendations. She listened to him, seeing his eagerness to please. The squire had given up his training hours to mill around her division of the castle, he had gotten that used to being ordered about by a woman; Brienne, it only seemed logical for him to seek out another. But she was no Brienne of Tarth. She had no armour for him to clean, and no swords for him to sharpen. Her handmaidens would argue with him, telling him to reserve the Queen's chores for them. If she ever caught 'Agnes' bartering with Podrick, she would shoo her away.

"You miss her, don't you?" Sansa commented one afternoon.

"Your grace." He dipped his head courteously. "My mistress has been gone too long, my routine has gone awry. I apologise if I bother you, I just wish to serve someone who has the closest ties to her."

"I miss her too, it's a shame Arya didn't stick with her, they would have got on." Sansa scrutinised him, the manservant was benevolent, but at this moment looked on the verge of disagreeing with her. "Well there's nothing I can do now but wait for conformation."

"Could I fetch you some parchment to write down-"

-"You're a squire, Podrick, not a handmaiden, what will the other squires think?"

"They didn't like me to begin with anyway." He said with all honesty. "Your grace."

"If any of them do anything, send them to my husband- he needs more flesh to bruise." They shared a secret smile. She sobered, looking at the recently made bed, Podrick followed her eye. He probably thought she was going to comment on the lack of bedding and plenty of sleep, but odd dreams. "Where does Agnes go, when she isn't here, Pod?" She fought against the urge to gossip.

Podrick appeared not to have expected that question, in relation to the bed. "Agnes, your grace?" He stared blankly to the side of her. "I don't know much, she is able to navigate the castle in such a way, I never see her anywhere but here, and maybe in the courtyard, I don't even know if she has her own quarters, let alone sleeps."

Sansa felt something should be done. "Does she speak to anyone?"

Podrick was curious about the Queen's interest in the harmless maid. "I think she speaks to everyone; you, the other handmaidens, me... the King."

Her ears perked up. "When?"

"When he's in the courtyard, not for long mind you, I used to think she was your messenger, and she was passing things onto him." Podrick was an asset to her.

"Have you ever listened to her, when she with the King?"

Podrick looked uncomfortable, this irked her. "She...whispers."

She put her embroidery down on her lap. "How curious." Sansa believed Podrick had read her tone.

"But I wouldn't worry, his manner is the same as always, your grace."

She toyed with her needle, studying Podrick's feet, he was cagey. "Podrick, I'm going to ask you to do something for me."

"Anything, but I have a feeling I know..."

Sansa smiled, pulling a stitch through her cloth. "Follow her, befriend her- if you can, if she is ever with my king, stay with my King. I expect I won't see you for some time." Podrick bobbed his head. "Thank you, Pod." He left her, and immediately she missed him, he was nice company, her only company who seeks her out during the day, apart from her maids.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sansa sat on her lounger reading one of her favourite fables, she heard the chink and clang of her husband along with the rustle of his leather, but he hardly made a noise with that mouth of his- it was like he held his breath when he came into the room. He had the air of untameable moodiness. She kept her eyes in her book as he dithered by the bed, another figure had followed him in, followed by another. The last person that had entered was assisting her husband with his armour. By the gods, he's actually allowing a squire to help him? When she finally looked up to register Podrick, she noticed the other person in the room was Agnes. A ha, well she did say follow her and stay with the King. Agnes was turning down the bed. It amused her to see Podrick watch her like a hawk all the while unclasping Jon. The Queen while downcast could see Jon reflectively staring at the handmaiden. What on earth...?- Had Podrick spoke to Jon of his mission?

"Your grace?"

"Agnes." Sansa looked up fully from her book, even though her eyes were already on her husband.

"Shall I help you with your night attire?" Her handmaiden was holding her chamber pot, as if expecting the queen to decline assistance with de-robing, and do another task.

Sansa was still in her day clothes, and Podrick was still present. How was this a good time to assist her out of her clothes? She coiled a red lock around her finger, studying everyone's reaction to this query. Jon was looking at the space between the bed and them, and Podrick was openly watching them. She hoped he would have the decency to advert his eyes if she did decide to- "Of course." She said absently, and the air in the room changed. Podrick ducked behind Jon, turning her King into a modesty screen. Her King had fleetingly looked at her to gauge her intention before settling on looking anywhere but at the two women.

"Your grace?" Agnes was clearly surprised she had received consent, and awkwardly put down the chamber pot. Sansa arose like a goddess from the lounger with open arms. "Of course, your grace." It was like she had given the witch a boot up the backside. She saw Agnes gesture to the divider, but Sansa stood firm. You can do this.

"That's okay, let's do it here." Soon as she said it, she knew it would motivate herself to follow through. Face him, or face away? Jon was down to just his leather, Podrick was peeling off his outer shell of black and brown. Neither were looking, but it was obvious they weren't ignorant to what was about to unfold. "Let's be quick about it, I don't want gooseflesh, thank you." Sansa tried to look as dignified as possible, even though no one would see it, except the witch, whom looked proud.

"Right." Agnes flicked her Queen's hair over her shoulder and began unclasping at her waist, the outer robe was pulled open, to reveal her bodice. Sansa felt the cold immediately, but she felt at least two pairs of eyes burning into the flesh on her bare shoulders, as the robe was pulled back and away. Agnes circled to collect the gown that was hanging about her arms. She lost a bit of her calm, since Agnes wasn't shielding her, so she dipped her head to spare her blushes. She could feel Agnes hands making fast work on her laces on her back, she was peeling the loose bodice away, and the shift was coming with it. Sansa lost her nerve and turned her back to the men. Agnes had to waltz around to get to her back again. The witch gave all the garments a good shove downwards, and they toppled to the floor, she was now naked as the day she was born. The cold erected her nipples, and her hands automatically sort her breasts for comfort. Hopefully her maid was blocking the view of her pert derriere from the man she had married and his squire. "Are you sure you want your night garments tonight, your grace?"

This witch wasn't her advisor, she gave her a very condescending look. "Until they go out of fashion, I'll wear them." Agnes dipped politely, and disappeared behind the screen to retrieve the gown, deliberately leaving Sansa exposed for a couple of seconds, before her maid returned to pull the cotton dress over her head. Sansa was relieved to be covered once more. She turned to find Podrick had gone and Jon standing there in his skivvies. Agnes had the audacity to look- which earned her a scalding from her Queen. "You're done now, aren't you? Or do wish to gawk at my husband some more?"

Agnes smiled at her and left without a curtsey. She saw her husband make sure the maid was gone before passing a verdict. "I'd watch out for her, she's looking for dead woman's shoes." She had heard this expression before, and only now knew its meaning. The spare wife.

"She would be the cause." The witch probably wanted her dead. "She better keep her distance." Sansa uttered, remaining where she was. His armour had been dumped in the arm chair as if Podrick had left in a hurry.

Jon frowned and followed her gaze. "I...err- sent him away as soon as the bodice came-" He did a gesture, and realised he had admitted to watching, he coughed- "Never mind, eh?" He chucked himself keenly on the bed, the headboard rattled. Probably the only time she'll hear it. "Did I detect jealousy?"

Ha! He'd be lucky. Sansa gave a single bark, incredulous. "She's a witch!"

"Never thought you would say a thing like that. Little miss perfect." His hands leisurely interlocked behind his head.

She was certain it was just an excuse to flex, she could see every muscle bulging. She put her back to such a masculine display and sat in front of her vanity dresser. As she brushed her hair she could still see him in her mirror. "You do realise that girl isn't just a maid called Agnes, that's the red witch in disguise."

The flexing didn't stop, he naturally looked like that. The headboard rattled as he sat bolt upright. "Melisandre."

"Oh that's pretty." Finally hearing the name out loud from her husband's mouth, she continued to brush her hair staring at Jon who was looking a little worse for wear. "She helped me bathe the other day and appeared to me as herself." She heard a cuss, but ignored it. "She wants to help- with god knows what."

"That's what you meant by coming into the castle using sorcery?- She made herself look like a maid?- Are you sure that weren't just a maid?" His feet made their way to the floor. "I didn't know she had taken permanent residence here, it explains why 'Agnes' has been paying close attention to me."

Sansa's brush stalled in her red locks and she twisted. "Considering what they have heard, everyone has been paying close attention to you, you're a dead man walking."

He arose from the bed with speed, and her brush clattered to the floor. Whoops. Her hands had lost grip due to the anxiety that spread across her whole body.

"Sorry...I didn't mean you're dead-" She tried as she stooped to pick up her implement, and when she levelled, he was close behind her stool. Sansa could see his lean torso in the mirror. It was a familiar sight, she saw it every morning and night. For some reason her grip tightened on the brush as if it were a weapon, though it could be simply so she didn't drop it again. "Jon." She spoke to the stomach in the reflection, it moved, so she knew he could breathe. A dead man didn't need air. His arm came into view and he snared her brush from her mitts. "Jon." The Queen half expected to be struck with it, but instead he took it upon himself to brush her hair. He placed his fingers on the top of her head as he swept through her hair, to hold it firm. The bristles were soothing on her scalp, and he brushed her hair behind the ear. She always enjoyed someone else doing her hair, and it was a unique experience having a man do it. You could say it was overwhelming for her senses; the touch and tug, and those hands at work, she could smell him as well. The intoxicating aroma of... Her eyes were starting to droop. "You're making my hair stand on end." Sansa commented, then corrected. "I meant...static." Not wanting to mention how relaxed she was.

"Maybe that's enough." His hands threaded through her hair, before he drawled- "Fancy returning the favour?"

It was her own mind that made it sound like a drawl, he merely said it normally. But the eyes. "Are you asking a Queen to do a chore?" She sniped with falsity, her lips curling.

"I'll pay you a groat?"

She tried to stifle a laugh."Since when did men have their hair brushed anyway?" She had already accepted the task at hand, one look at the ruffled hair and she just wanted to play with it. Sansa shifted across with mock indignation so he could share her vanity seat. "If I have to, it is a mess." She lied.

"Right." Jon held out the brush, and just as her hand went for it, he lobbed it onto the bed.

"Oh how enchanting." She said sardonically.

"Do it on the bed, I can't perch on that thing." And he swaggered across the room to get into position. His Queen watched with trepidation as he got into a lounging position on his side. Smooth. She silently obliged and slowly joined him on the bed- not sure whether to lounge herself, or sit with her legs over the side of the bed, like riding side saddle. The sheets rustled and the bed creaked as she sought an adequate position, he watched her consumed with interest. Her decision would indicate her mood, and since she settled on 'the escapable legs off the bed position' and behind him, Jon probably knew she would do the task and the task alone.

The brushing...It was no easy assignment, it required two hands, and a lot of nerve. It wasn't knotted, just curly, she separated it into bunches so she could grip each section and brush without snagging and drawing noise from him. But he didn't make a sound, all she heard was the cruucjhk from the brush, and her own murmurs of labour. After a section had had a couple of successful brush throughs, she would stroke it down, toy with its softness, soft enough to put your face in. But she wouldn't. When her hands skirted his forehead, to brush the bangs behind his ears, he rolled around to face her. This was probably to help her out, but she found it difficult, because now she felt like she was being watched. He probed, and it was subduing, she ceased all noise and lip biting, she must have looked stoic as she began his parting. It didn't look right for him to have a parting, so she started to smooth it back, forgetting herself and using her hands. The curls were between her fingers, his scent dispensed into the air. Sansa believed an enchantment had been cast, so she stopped. "Done." She announced, and wriggled off the bed to retrieve her book.

"Can I do yours again?"

She heard it, and she honestly didn't mind. But why would a King stoop himself to being a handmaiden? "Of course you can, I suppose I could read at the same time." She had her sights set on the lounger, but she could read in bed. She clambered into the bed, and realised she would have to sit away from the headboard so he could get to her mane. "You'll get bored, it doesn't knot."

"You like knots?"

"I'm just saying there won't be a challenge." Sansa crossed her legs and placed her book there.

"But uninterrupted smoothness is hypnotic." He commented, and she couldn't agree more.

"Yes, I suppose, both to the brusher and the... brushee." The brush swept through, and the hypnosis began. Maybe it was an enchantment, perhaps she should stop? She was scared of magic, and not being in control, but at that moment it didn't feel like she cared. No doubt if there was some unknown force at work- it was taking away her anxiety and wooing her. Sansa realized she had stopped reading, she had been on the same page for 10 minutes. When she got back into the story, she found the princess in the story was also brushing her hair. She shut the book and dropped it on the night stand. "I think I could write better." She settled back, to just savour the tugging.

"Why don't you?" Jon said after a moment of quiet.

Sansa had been speaking to herself, it wasn't a suggestion. "Oh, that's a silly notion, me write stories, what for?"

"Well people will write stories on us in books, why don't you write a book?"

Sansa scoffed. "I'll let the historians, archivers, and minstrels write about us. "She toyed with the hem of her nighty, dwelling on their story. "They can make it sound more epic." She was going to say with less tragedy- but their whole life was a tragedy. "With propaganda and ferocious beasts." It occurred to her she might have insulted their union. "Not that we haven't good stories to tell, it's just-"

"-It just isn't finished." Jon retorted, settling the brush down into her lap. "You can keep a journal, or write a story that isn't about us, a work of fiction?"

She turned to him, not quite believing what he was asking. "It sounds like something I would enjoy, it just has never crossed my mind, a woman writing a book, a Queen writing a book." She emphasized 'Queen' in her dulcet tone.

"You know what I enjoy?"

Jon appeared playful, and it scared the seven hells out of her. Don't ask, don't ask. "Training!" She said after a pregnant pause. "-You should write a book on training." She leapt from the bed, her brush fell to the floor, and she manoeuvred to the desk. "It could be another project for us...between winning the war, and..." Defending the realms of men? "Rebuilding Winterfell."

"I won't have time for writing a book, there are things that need my attention." That odd tone still lingered, and she thought she had managed to squash all reminders of carnal pursuits. "Another project for us?..." Damn she did say another earlier, and they didn't even have a single project yet. He shuffled on his knees on the bed in her direction. "Come here." It was very jovial, like he was talking to the wolf. So completely harmless.

Sansa crossed the void she had created and stood before him, smiling politely. "Writing a book is a good idea, and I have many in my head...A tale of two sisters, a beauty and a beast, a man that cooked men in pies." She heard Jon chuckle while his fingers danced dangerously close to the hem of her nighty. Keep talking- distract. "Great suggestion, thank you by the way- it'll give me something to do." He was definitely burning a hole through her nighty, just staring at it and daring himself to lift it. Move back to the desk. "I better write that down before I forget." She retreated back to the desk.

"Women have good memories, you'll remember it, I'll remind you."

"I'll need adequate sleep in order to..." When she looked back he was on all fours, as if he was about to bark at her. He's a Stark alright. How was this acceptable?-Stark on Stark, dear me, it's so Targerya- She straightened. "Makes sense."

"What does, love?"

Sansa studied him, and he simply gave a grimacy smile.

"Don't you have council meeting tomorrow?" She was trying desperately to be polite as possible, she couldn't openly say no to whatever was on his mind. "I mean early tomorrow?"

Jon settled on his knees, and tore his eyes away from her. "Yeah..." Before crawling into bed with his tail tucked between his legs. "I suppose you're right."

That might have been a small victory, but she felt awful, and she got the feeling he wasn't in accordance with her. He knew what she was doing. She saw old Jon's smile, the solitary one.

When she climbed into bed, she felt a massive gap, bigger than the one she normally made herself. Jon was first to blow out the candle this night, and attempt to sleep. And he succeeded. She lay awake, listening to him breathe, it rattled and became very slow. The large pauses gave her seconds of fear, as if he was inches from death. Sansa looked and saw the slow rise and fall of his chest cavity, he was on his side, facing away from her. Further proof he didn't like her tonight. Her hand reached out to graze his shoulder blade, it appeared to glow blue in the moonlight, she shifted the blanket downwards to see further scaring on his back. Her mouth quivered, it was if she was about to cry, she was sad- that's for sure. Sad that she couldn't be comfortable, sad Jon wasn't happy, sad the pain and suffering he endured getting those scars. She felt herself moving forward, she curled herself towards his back, and tentatively kissed one of his scars. Her King stirred and she quickly reset her position, and pretended to be asleep, before realising it was just a hypnic jerk.


	12. Chapter 12

She found herself in darkness, a cold windy darkness that violated her senses, and filled her soul with fear. Sansa yelled loudly to see how far the darkness went, it echoed, then got lost. The place she was, was huge. She walked steadily with her hands in front of her, feeling out for obstructions, walls, doors, or people, anything. She didn't want to be alone. Then, a low reverberating growl rung to her left. She looked with a gasp. Lady. She saw her direwolf, she glowed with moonlight, but there was no moon. Lady was never the one to growl, she was the gentlest of all the direwolves. "Lady." She said sweetly, and the wolf hid its teeth and crept to her, its face became kind and sort her for affection. Sansa stroked it, it was just how she remembered, and the smell- she smelt like earth and occasionally of perfume, one she would apply herself."Thank the gods I have you." She combed her fur with her fingers. "I missed you."

"My wife must be getting lonely."

Her head snapped up, panic set in. That was Ramsay's voice echoing in the gloom. Her mind unfogged, the darkness began to recede. And she ran to the opposite side of the void to get away from the voice. If Ramsay was there, her wolf might protect her. But then she remembered. Lady was dead. And all of a sudden her direwolf faded away, but she could still smell her. She was not gone. She sniffed in hopes of tracing her path, finding her dead friend again. Sansa wandered to the outskirts of the place she was, the borders were dark, but she went into them regardless. Lady? She had no voice, nothing came out- but a whine. That's when she realised she hadn't been walking...she had been trotting, and she didn't have two legs, she had four. I'm a wolf? The good thing was that when she concentrated she could see through the darkness. There were silhouettes of trees, and nothing more.

Until she strained her ears, something was in distress, it was sniffling, as if stifling a sob. She trotted into the darkness and through the trees, until she spotted a dark shape on the floor in a clearing, and soon as she was within 10ft of it, she knew it was a boy. He was curled up, trying to keep warm, crying into the dirt. She approached his back with caution, but she had caught his scent further back. Leather and Musk. Jon? It came out as a sympathetic whine. He lurched forward in surprise. Oh lord. He opened up from his curled up position to turn to her, wiping his nose on his sleeve, and she realised he was very young. A very young Jon, too young for her to know him, she would have just been a toddler.

He looked at her, startled by her presence. "Lady?"

Oh yes she was still a wolf, and her own wolf. But she couldn't understand how he knew of lady, her direwolf wasn't around when he was this age. Before she had time to comprehend everything else in this bizarre world. The boy hugged her, put his arms around her furry head and squeezed. "I died too." He mumbled into her fluff, and it chilled her to the paws. "You smell nice." They were disturbed by the howling and barking of hounds, and they found themselves fleeing together back through the trees. His little legs weren't fast, and she covered a lot of ground. "Wait for me."

So she slowed for him to catch up. Come on, hurry!

She awoke then, in her bed, cold, and to the sound of her maid bustling around her. Sansa rolled her head towards the girl that smouldered at her. "My Queen, this shall be an eventful day."

"What do you know?" Sansa narrowed her eyes.

The seven Hells would break loose that day. And it wasn't anything to do with her. Her husband's council meeting had been interrupted with a ruckus of men scrambling to the battlements. Someone was coming, and it wasn't winter.

Agnes had been with the Queen that morning making small talk while sewing. She asked her things that she couldn't have known unless she had been there the night before. Maybe she was disguised as the hairbrush. Soon as the mayhem had started, Agnes fell out of character and dismissed herself, whisking herself away to her King. Well, that's where she figured the witch would go. Sansa wasn't about to barricade herself in her quarters, but she did send her remaining handmaidens to buckle down in the master chambers. She encouraged them to sing mother's mercy and scurried down the main hall, the King wasn't there, he was where he should be, outside. The atmosphere was similar to the pre-seige of Winterfell, or battle of the bastards as the small folk called it. But Ramsay was long gone, who was coming? The Lannisters were weeks away. Could it be...the monsters?

The Queen made her way out, she encountered Sam on her travels- he was pacing. "Lord Tarly, why are you in here?"

"Your grace, am I to stop you going out there, the King's orders." Sam was furtive, avoiding her eye.

"Not even in the courtyard?"

"Nope."

"I'm not going to wait for a conclusion." Sansa fumed, flapping her skirts. "Are you going to force me back, Sam?!"

"Your grace-" He bumbled to the door, Sansa was already there pushing it open. "Please, I know I'm not a good warrior, but at least allow me to be a good guard. You're no good to him out there."

She wasn't good to him anywhere. Sansa saw people assembling all kinds of apparatus, soldiers jogging past, and the yelling of commands. "It hasn't started already?"

Sam had her arm. "Please, your grace." She spied banners going up. "Who is coming?"

Sam was biting into his lip. "I wouldn't worry, they'll probably just pass by us." Sansa crossed the threshold, dragging the man with her- he was still holding her sleeve. "Your grace, your grace!" He'd soon run out of breath and give up. She saw further commotion, a lot of panic, even the free folk had wandered into the castle grounds.

She reached a wooden stair to the battlements, and dashed up them as if her life depended on it, she stumbled on the last stair- and clambered onto the stone wall. Sansa spied red hair and knew that was the fierce wilding man. The Queen walked the full circuit to get to him, and as she got closer- her husband was revealed to her, he was shorter than this man so he had been obscured. But seeing him made her spirits lift, even if it was going to be short-lived. The wilding saw her first, he mumbled something and Jon's head snapped around to look at her, she gave him a sombre smile.

He came at her like thunder. "No no no." He said to scald her, as his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. "You can't put yourself up 'ere with me, get back down below." He pointed to the stairs quite abruptly, before softening. "Sweetheart you can't put yourself in harm's way." Her husband sort her sleeve, and for a second she wished her arm had been bare.

"I know, but I'd rather be out here." She saw something in the corner of her vision, and she turned to it. "What-" Jon had reached for her face, probably to say something endearing, and it hindered her from looking at what was coming.

"I need y-"

"-IT'S HERE!" Tormund squawked.

"Get down the stairs now!" Jon suddenly lurched, all the men yelled, all seemingly dropping in the same direction. Sansa found herself looking at something looming large, Jon pulled her down to the stones, she let out a yelp of surprise, even before she had time to recognise it. "Stay down!"

Sansa gaped as a large shadow flew over them, she felt droplets of water fall from it. Impossible ."That's a dragon!" Her voice was surprisingly calmer than it should be, but her eyes prickled with tears. "Did the witch...?" Sansa scanned the area, including the ground outside the castle.

Jon was panting, getting up, he was confounded by her lack of terror. "I doubt she could conjure something like that." He steered her to the stairs. "Get down now, or I'll put you in chains."

"If I get in the castle, I'll get roasted- don't you remember Harrenhaal!" The Queen exclaimed over the battle cries of men. Jon got quite physical with her, he was on the verge of picking her up and throwing her down the stairs.

"Get down below now!"

"It's just scoping us!" Sansa shook him off. "Look!" She pointed at it ferociously, and Jon immediately followed her direction and studied the sky, the dragon did another dip turn and suddenly started flying east of them.

"It'll be back." He huffed, his breath still not entirely back. The rest of the men looked equally relieved. "It belongs to someone."

"Or no one, but sure...it'll be back." Sansa tried, she tugged at her sleeve that had hooked up to his sword. "There are dragons in some of my stories, when people aren't riding them, they hunt." A thread pulled. "Damn."

Jon simply snapped the thread. "If you knew that, then why would you stick around?" He said gruffly.

"I don't know, I just..." It was like she didn't care. "He didn't grab any of us." Sansa shrugged, her fictional stories were very vague, the authors probably didn't have a clue about dragons. "I'm not sure they'd attack a strong hold unless they had a rider. I don't see anybody about that could..." She noted Jon staring after the dragon. "-Keep one of those things." She then looked at its disappearing form, hard and unyielding, large but graceful. "That'll certainly scare the southerners."

Jon grimaced. "Well it certainly scares me." His lips spilt with a smile. "Maybe if it comes back I'll tame it."

"It was going east, out to sea maybe?" Tormund had joined the conversation.

"I did smell and taste sea water when it came over us." Sansa retorted, her coat felt damper than she thought- "Perhaps it came from that way, now it's going back."

The red bearded man was still marvelling the skies from which it came. "A magnificent beast..." His grin suddenly became suggestive. "Something I wouldn't mind getting inside of."

"Ssh." Jon hissed.

"I could have meant warging?"

"But you didn't mean that." The King caught his smile, it was contagious. "And you don't warg."

Sansa was still far away in the clouds to mention her ignorance on a word like 'warging'. "If I wasn't nervous of heights I'd gladly ride it." She heard a deep chuckle, but from whom? She shot a look at both. "The worst thing that thing could do to me is burn me, nothing more."

She saw Jon's smile fade, he read into the comment. But Sansa believed he read it as stupidity, more than a willingness to die.

Sansa shook away the darkness that encroached her mind. "Maybe he was looking for a rider?" She wanted to chase away all his anxieties

"Nah... it was just being nosy." Her King's demeanour became of tower of strength. Perhaps it was because the danger had come and gone, or was it her presence? "Keep the men up here to watch the skies, Tormund go make sure none of your folk have been taken."

"You'd better do the same with yours." The bearded man then took off down the stairs, he bound off like some kind of monkey from the far east, leaving the Queen watching her husband pensively.

"We were lucky, too lucky, maybe Melisandre is onto something..."

Jon listened to her. "Hm."

"She can sense King's blood, the lord of light is her guide, perhaps the fire dragon can sense your King's blood." Maybe they weren't siblings after all. But considering what Jon had done, he didn't seem to care. "Targaryen blood."

"Then why didn't he land?"

Sansa shrugged. "I don't know everything."

Her husband sure found that funny. "And I know nothing, apparently." She frowned at this.

Davos burst the bubble. "Agnes is missing." He had run up the stairs at a young man's pace. "Podrick has just informed me." He saw his king and Queen share a look. "I've asked Podrick to double check, he was with the women folk, and said he thought he'd seen her go into the crypts...and vanish."

The Queen finally went down below back onto the ground, to check for herself. Jon lingered with Davos. "Has my wife mentioned anything to you about Agnes?"

"Does she find her rude...?"

The King had noticed this himself. "She claims it's Melisandre." Jon had his hand wrapped around his sword handle, as if he was on the verge of drawing it."I believe her, but I want to know is, have you any evidence?"

Davos was gobsmacked, he shook his head. "I have nothing, but...she doesn't exactly follow procedure. I didn't think Melisandre would leave your service so easily."

Jon huffed and stormed past. "Well that settles it then, if she is going to use trickery to deceive us, she'll have to go." His advisor followed, trying to keep at Jon's pace.

"Your grace, though I'm not fond of the woman, after all... she did burn Princess Shireen..."

"-Are you building to a point that'll convince me to trust her?" He was tired of pussyfooting about.

"She did bring you back from the other side, your grace." The was the only reason she still lived.

"The lord of light brought be back, and she is a messenger...she's told me all this. I thanked her, then I dismissed her, I can't trust a witch. She has so much influence, and sorcery makes me uncomfortable."

Davos ambled towards him with intent."You know what makes me uncomfortable?..."

Jon's ears perked up.

"White walkers." Davos said with a grave but enlightening voice. "I like to get behind power, if it puts something between me and them. "

"How about a dragon?" There was a childlike gleam in Jon's eye. "That's a good barrier, and there's fire power too."

"One thing at a time, ey?" His advisor concluded.

Jon gave several more orders around the castle grounds. Some squire had tipped up a barrel of arrows in the panic earlier and they had all scattered across the churned up mud. "Sort this out, lad." One broke under his foot. "That's a fucking waste." He rumbled before disappearing into the great hall. He saw ladies dithering by the tables, they curtsied upon his approach. His eyes roved to each of their faces, none were Agnes and most importantly, none were Sansa. His cape swished as he turned promptly to exit the hall and proceed to the crypts.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sansa examined the crypts, and looked for any signs of damage to the statues. The feather had fallen from Lyanna's hand again, so she returned it. There.

"You like being down here."

What the seven hells? Sansa jumped an inch, and turned towards the feminine voice. "You shouldn't come down here, this is strictly off limits to servants and small folk."

Melisandre cocked a brow at her. "I'm a lady, my queen, and anyone should be allowed to pay their respects." She closed in on her, with a dark gleam in her eyes. "I sense a great power down here, it drew me down to the depths of these crypts."

"And there was me thinking you were hiding from the dragon." Sansa had really expected Melisandre to be performing some ritual, probably to bring all of the dead back. How frightening,and yet... if only she knew where her mother and brother's bodies were. But that was unthinkable. A tear leaked from her eye, and the witch swooped in to catch it.

"My child, don't cry for those that have passed, cry for the living that will suffer if we don't succeed with our mission." A hand touched her cheek, and Sansa jarred from it. "If only I could soothe you, take away your pain and suffering, your fear-"

"-Bad memories, can you wipe away bad memories?" Sansa scoffed. "You can't rewrite what is written, I would love to forget, but I'd be that ignorant little girl again if I did." She could feel a surge of anger in her bosom, one that made her sound like a retched brat. "You aren't here to help me, you are here for the King."

The red priestess dipped her head. So she finally admits it. "Do you want me to help the King?"

"It's up to the King." Though she very much wanted her opinion counted. "But he doesn't like deception."

"Then why has it taken you so long to report me?" The witch chimed. "If you wanted to stop me, stop me."

How was Sansa supposed to do that?- She couldn't pick a fight with a witch and expect to win. "I did report you, he knows about you."

"After how long...?" Melisandre was angling for something. What was she getting at? "You tell him everything?"

"Everything?" The queen was irked, since when had she herself been deceitful? – This had to be a trick, transferring some guilt onto her. Sansa composed herself, smiling with dignity."What else was there to tell?"

Melisandre smiled, a slow and calculating one. "About everything we discussed."

Seduction, Heirs, and- Her King had bled for her on the battlefield, why couldn't she bleed for him birthing a child?

"-Why do you do that?" She heard the witch say suddenly.

"-What?"

The red woman tipped her head, analysing her with that exotic face of hers. "Your inner voice is very loud, it's deafening. You talk a lot in your head, you never stop- constantly thinking, it must hurt. Those festering anxieties."

This scared her, just as much as Joffrey and Ramsay- Someone who could read one's mind. Sansa pretended to be unfazed. "Everybody thinks, you can't expect me to speak every little thing on my mind!- It would be jibberish!"

"You should try doing it more." She crooned, toying with the girl's hair. "Just reflect on the times you did, and how rewarding it felt."

Sansa watched warily as the lady's finger coiled her hair. "If I speak my mind, I'll see my own head roll."

Melisandre gave a single nasal huff of a laugh. "You're sweet."

Sansa actually cussed at her, it was unrepeatable and she hated herself for it. "How's that for sweet?" She wasn't going to storm out of her own crypts, she would gladly wait it out until the witch left before she could desecrate sacred ground. "Did you find what you were looking for down here?" She folded her arms, knowing fully well she hadn't.

"There is strength here, I'll find it. But this is the best place for reflection, don't you think?" Melisandre gestured at the darkness, and she seemingly lit a candle with her finger, Sansa backed away a little. "Don't be afraid of the light, come feel it's warmth, be comforted by this..."

Sansa looked at the tombs, she couldn't see much comfort, but she could see herself coming down here more often to reflect and escape court. "It's a little cosy, in a creepy dank sort of way." She had spend too much time with Tyrion.

"Now let me unburden you." Melisandre moved into her personal space. "Let me help you."

"Excuse me?" That sounded like sorcery. Sansa reversed into a tomb. "How's that?..." The witch kissed her, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Away away away. The was a surge of energy, it was awful and she didn't feed off it. It wanted to feed off her, but she felt her will push at it. It tried to invade her, but it could not, nothing could penetrate her.


	13. Chapter 13

Sorry I have completed this story on another site, it's a rigmaroll doing it on here- but I'm getting there.

P.S If Hodor comes back as a white walker I will lose my cool.

The King trod down the stairs, it was dark- except for an ominous glow on the stone. He reached the bottom of the stairwell to find a single candle lit in front of Lyanna's statue, he felt odd looking at it. He inched closer to see a feather lying in the delicate hand of the stone woman, he fingered it so it was more centred.

"It's quiet up there."

He turned to his wife, surprised she had chosen to hide herself away in the depths. "Well it isn't when you're up there." He studied her stature, she was standing tall and proud but she kept in the shadows, very much like the statues. "I think you mean it's quiet down here."

"Of course." She gave him a small smile, she appeared rosy cheeked, something he believed was down to the excitement earlier.

"Find anything?" He remembered there was a reason he ventured down. "The red woman?" Sansa skirted the outer borders of the light, giving him a wide birth. "You don't have to be frightened, I didn't mean what I said earlier...I was never going to chain you up, it was an expression- you don't get my sense of humour." He tried, bringing his hand up in the hopes of coaxing her.

She sniggered, and he felt a flutter in his chest. "No, I do find it funny. You were always funny..." It was like they were dancing, he moved around the borders of light too, trying to remain directly opposite her so he could see her fully. "You like what you see?"

It was an odd thing to say, he cast is eye to the tombs and melted wax. "We're in the crypts, there's no-"He saw her pull her mane over her shoulder and play with it, stroking it, tantalisingly. It was enough to get any man excited. "I do, it's-" Finally answering her question. "An odd place to ask...but I'm glad you-"She parted her hair, and stroked it either side, her hands skimming the sides of her bosom, she cupped them briefly and then slid her hands down to her stomach. "-asked." At that moment his blood was not getting to his brain. "You have-"

"-A woman's body." She was scoffing him. Her hands moved to her clasp. "Would you like to see it?"

He had stopped circling, losing the ability to walk. "Huh?" He heard the click of the clasp and he drew uneven breath through an agape mouth. "Err yeah- "He suddenly closed his eyes and threw up a hand. "Wait wait, no...down here?" He said shaking his head, to get rid of the fog. "Sansa this is a crypt." He rumbled, determined to be coherent with that point, she pulled the skirt of her outer robe open, the corner of her lip curled as he reacted to a lithe smooth leg, it poked out from the petticoats to tease him. "Fuck." He breathed, on the verge of looking away. He was semi- hard. "Let's go um...do the." He cleared his throat. "Upstairs, right now." He finally crossed the light, his hand wanted to stroke the leg, but he fought against it and seized her arm. "I'm not doing this in a bloody crypt." He pulled her through the darkness, she kept stalling. "Just keep up the..." She had adjusted his hand to her breast. "Hell." He could feel eyes on him, and not just hers, he peered back down the crypt, trying to keep moving. Clearly spooked.

Sansa pleaded."Our chambers don't excite me, so many eyes and ears in the castle waiting for me to perform a duty. The dead don't watch." She dug her feet firm into the dirt and sand, and yanked him to a halt. "Give yourself to me now."And Jon dreaded looking back.

"Oh for fucks sake." He took a peek, her hand was still holding his to her breast. "We're in a crypt, Sansa!"His fingers circled the cup, gauging its size and- he retracted awkwardly. "Anyway it's warmer upstairs."

"And I'm warmer." She removed her neck shawl that tucked into her dress, and she was using her free hand to part the fabric that concealed her chest.

"I'm sure you..." Pale skin on collar bone, and a good cleavage shadow- lord have mercy. He sucked in his lips to wet them. "Bugger it-" Jon without warning shoved her against the stone, and planted his lips hard against hers, they were yielding, desperate to taste and consume, as was his. It was probably that he couldn't believe his luck and he tasted what he could, before she changed her mind. The only off putting thing was she smelt like death and candle wax- probably not something you want in your nostrils when you're about to fuck, but the warmth that came from her spurned him. The King wanted to chase the pulse down her neck, he moved down it, pressing hard enough to try and feel a pulse, anything, he was pressing firm enough his teeth might have perforated the skin.

"My poor King, you're starved." She purred. He coughed a little, he was choking on the lust. Her hands were between them bunching up her skirts. There wasn't enough light for him to see his target. But she was insisting it didn't matter."I'm ready, I'm right here. You bleed for me on the battlefield, and I'll bleed for you birthing a child, trace my heat."

He let out a groan of anguish. Jon's hand fumbled with his armour and leather, trying to get to his small clothes. It was hard to kiss and de-robe. It was as if he had forgotten how to undress. "Fuck sake!" He felt the cold reach his appendage, it wasn't as erect as he thought, it wasn't enough, he needed it to throb. That didn't make sense, he was hungry and willing, why would his body betray him like this? Jon was trying to hold his wife to the wall and stimulate himself, without letting on he was. "Not now, not now!" Maybe she would think he was taking the moral high ground?

He was beside himself, he returned to the sanctuary of his wife's neck, trying to get the thing he needed to send him over the threshold. His body wasn't being compliant. Maybe his body was still dead? He growled, as his queen clung onto him, she was silent. And he feared he had let her down, which was ridiculous- King's don't fail at such a task, especially when he had been keen all other times. Typical. Jon felt he was able to perform when the other was not ready. It wasn't a good sign, it felt horrendous and immoral. That's when his face started to burn with rage, he felt like he wanted to punch the stone to dust. He withdrew immediately and her feet dropped to the floor. There was a gasp as they separated, it was like a great force had pushed them apart. He tucked himself away grudgingly. "It's probably the location." He tried, but Sansa was on him again, any other time it would have delighted him. "Give me a minute, love." He warned, her hands were invasive, tucking into all corners that not even squires would go. Gods have no mercy, they like their cruel jokes. He shut his eyes, willing the blood to his extremities.

"I am skilled, I could warm you up." She murmured into his ear, his hairs stood on end- he had dreamt of such things being said by her. But his core suddenly went cold.

"No." He heard himself and questioned it. "How can you be...?" He pulled back enough to look her in the eye. She looked unfazed, and more intriguingly, her eyes were violet blue in the dim light. Sansa's were sky blue. He jerked away, careful in case he was wrong in his assumptions. "You are not..."

"Don't be afraid."

This made Jon bark. "Oh gods, I knew this was too good to be true!" He dragged her into the light, with the intention of seeing her properly to make an assessment. "Are you, or are you not?"

"I can provide you with a son." She held onto the pretence that she was who she claimed, her face open and suggestive.

Sansa was never suggestive, she hadn't learned how to be, not yet anyway. "You're not my wife." Still not sure, he remained there. "Where is my wife?" His voice was death.

It looked to put the fear of Rh'ollor into her. "I tried to coax her, but she was strong and stubborn." Jon got a little scared. "Fear not, I took all her anxieties away, she is resting, but she is learning."

"Don't speak in riddles, tell me!" The king snapped, and 'his wife' pointed into the darkness, back from where they had come from, the place he wanted to flee. He stormed down into the depths, snaring the still lit candle, he didn't have to walk far. He saw the heaped fabric of a dark green skirt, his sweet Sansa slumped up against a tomb, her face pale and eyes puffy. "Sansa." He speedily knelt and clutched her face, examining her for injuries and waiting for her to say something in her melodic voice. Jon was dismayed to find she was catatonic- but she was fixated on the path leading out, even the way she was sitting up suggested she hadn't lost complete control. If she was actually alert but frozen, she must have seen them... fumbling. What a cruel thing to see. He rose and looked towards were the witch was, she still hadn't changed, or budged. He trudged back to her, creating a whirlwind. "You."

"See she is fine."

She had a nerve. "She doesn't look it." Glancing back. "Change back now, I forbid you to look like this." He said without raising his voice.

Melisandre must have read into it as calm and forgiving, for she did as she was told, Sansa's face dissolved into that of the priestess's. "Better, you like what you see?"

Jon then slapped her, but not at maximum strength. He didn't want to cause too much harm. He kept his face neutral, right up until afterwards, that's when his nostrils flared. "I'd never thought I'd hit a woman. Never in my life, never will I again, but I'll make an exception with your face."

While Melisandre rubbed the redness, he doubled back to lift up his wife and bring her somewhere warmer and safer. He had to rifle since the candle had gone out. "There there now, I got you." He soothed, and he smelt the real scent of his wife, it was indescribable.

As he walked past the wounded red woman- well she was certainly red now, she found her voice."You'll need me Jon Snow, I am your messenger, I am the lord of light's messenger, I'll always be there. The lord of light has great things planned for you." She persevered. "And I was helping your wife, she can't do what is expected of her alone. She might never be able to do it!"

He felt like locking her in the crypts. "Don't deceive me again."

Davos and Jon walked Sansa into the room. That's right, walked. During the trip through the main hall, she convulsed as if returning to life. Jon could certainly relate to that. But she yelled. "Oh gods! Down...put me down!" Davos had appeared as if from behind a tapestry, hearing the commotion. "Put me down, your presence insults me!"Servants fled, some lingered, to be nosy.

"What's happened, your grace?" The advisor saw his King set Sansa back on the ground, and she immediately began thumping her husband's chest. Davos couldn't help but wince. "Now then, now then, your grace." He tried to seize those hands that flailed at his majesty who was putting up a decent fight too- but without causing any harm. It ended with the King holding one hand and the older gent holding the other.

"Sansa, you know there is sorcery at work, trying to drive us apart. I fell for it, alright, I didn't mean to do that. I thought it was you." The King explained, and just by eavesdropping, Davos assessed what had gone down.

"The witch has struck again?"

Jon appeared uncomfortable bringing up the issue. "Strange things happened in the crypt, I think Sansa might have saw everything."

"I did, it's what I imagine the seven hells feel like!"

Jon pursed his lips. "Right." Clearly he was offended. "I suppose you're referring to the lack of control you endured."

"And the rest!-"

"Can we please go somewhere more private, your graces?" Davos butt in, realising these we personal, morale squashing issues in a public place. "Might I remind you, Sansa, you struck a King in front of his subjects."

Sansa covered her mouth eyes wide, Jon half expected an apology, but instead. "-Oh right, that was a mistake, it should have been a kick in the genitals." She whispered harshly into their faces. Jon was deathly silent, brooding, Davos imagined his grace was envisioning some horrible things...to do this his wife. The advisor used the pause to steer them out of the hall and up to their chambers.

"It wasn't my fault." The older gent heard his King utter dangerously, as they got to the landing. It must have festered in his mind during the short trip.

"So it was mine?" Sansa retorted. Davos opened the chamber door for his queen. Jon disappeared in there after her.

"You might have fallen for that trick as well, if it were the other way around." Jon oozed, as if that would have made things better.

Sansa shook her head defiantly. "You don't know me."

"I bloody do." They grew up together, how can she forget?

She was enraged, so she barked in his face. "-If you did... you would know if it had been the other way around, I couldn't have touched you!" Not in that way, and so soon, and in a sacred crypt. Her arms folded as if to close the conversation.

"Because you would know the difference?" Jon gathered, but Sansa kept tight lipped."Oh, I see." Jon said with bitter defeat. She wouldn't touch him edgeways.

She could see that sadness in his eyes, it bit at her like the northern wind. He looked twice as sorry, as before, sorry for what he had done, sorry he had heard her imply something so callous. She turned her back on him, only she could get away with something as dangerous as that, turning one's back on their King. Sansa didn't want to feel guilt, she hadn't done anything wrong. "What happens now?" She had said that out loud. But she didn't want to know.

Silence.

Davos cleared his throat. "There was that council meeting that was interrupted?- Perhaps we could finish off there. It turns out we've just had this moment a raven warning us of a dragon." He suddenly laughed and it startled the young Queen. "It flew over the great houses of the north, it ate a few goats and buggered off, they wanted to know what to do?"

The Queen listened intently, her husband gave a sigh of resignation. "Well when I saw it, I didn't think anything could be done, I'd have trouble shooting such a..."

"Striking animal." Davos finished. "We have much to discuss, the day is young, your grace."

She heard Jon fidget then retreat grudgingly from the chamber, the clicking of his buckles and sword went with him and grew more distant. The door closed, and Sansa knew she was alone.

When the door opened again, it was Melisandre, as herself. Sansa jumped up from her lounger. "What are you doing here?!"

"I owe you an apology." Sansa scoffed before the witch had completed her explanation. "-For not telling you my plan. I'm very sorry, I must speak before I act. The lord of light doesn't encourage deceit." Melisandre was brave, but had a lot of cheek.

Though she had misgivings on the witch- it may in turn prove useful- such power, enough to win a war."Right." Sansa dropped her embroidery on the lounger, straightening her gown. "I suppose I have no choice but to accept."

The witch blinked. "Really?" It was funny to see the witch looking suspicious.

She probably expected a slap from her too. "You have a strange way of giving help." She wagged her finger at the exotic beauty. "Nevertheless." She clasped her hands in front of her. "I learnt a great deal from that horrendous..." She gestured at nothing, hoping for the red woman to fill in the blanks.

"Yes."

Was that all she could say? Sansa put on her interrogation face. "You wanted to give my husband a son." That wasn't a question, she had heard it this morning, the witch opened her mouth- but she ploughed on. "You wanted to deceive my husband into committing adultery." The witch tried again, Sansa cut her off. "You wanted me to see everything, and I did, the only thing you did manage to achieve this morning." Sansa wet her lips. "And I learnt those things, and more, I know what I look like to other people if I ever did become a seductress."

The witch finally got a word in. "Yes, you had a lot of influence, don't you see the power you have?"

Sansa slowly sat down. "It doesn't mean I liked it." She shook her head, at a snail's pace. "There's one thing to make a man believe he is going to be rewarded in exchange for something else; information, but there's another thing where the man is actually rewarded- it's called..." She contorted her face in thought. "Well that is...something I'm not comfortable with. Giving things so willingly isn't what a noblewoman is all about."

"Oh but you will at some point be inclined, my Queen, never question your honour. When two people love one another, they don't see you as a temptress every time you are more willing than he." The red witch sat down on the lounger next to her, without permission. "Love is blind, your grace."

Sansa grimaced at the poor etiquette, their skirts were touching, she shifted away. "I learnt my husband was insatiable when coaxed." Maybe it wasn't a bad thing the witch coming between her and her husband.

"All men are. Too bad he was not up to the task..."

Melisandre talked a lot of crap sometimes. "He looked very up to the task." Sansa supposed keenness was a compliment to herself, but the fact Melisandre had said the opposite was a little confusing- and offensive. "Why, what do you mean? He was with you right up until he wasn't." She didn't see any reluctance, except he didn't like the locale.

The witch had a secret smile. "You obviously didn't see everything from your angle."

Sansa rolled her eyes at the crudity. "I didn't need to."

"If you had, you would have seen a problem... a hindrance."

Sansa was flummoxed- she tried to read Melisandre's face. She looked smug. "He was overdressed...and armed?"

Melisandre showed teeth. "No sweet girl, a problem with the... instrument. It might be a short term blessing for you, but...my...it would destroy him."

The Queen finally understood. "Oh." She went as red as the witch's dress. "Oh..." Finally thinking of the dilemma. "No consummation, no heir." Despite her misgivings with beddings, she felt a little depressed. "I'm assuming it's because of the resurrection, he didn't come back whole." She thought out loud and Sansa finally knew she wasn't the only one with an issue."I highly doubt seduction is the key, if it's me that is the cause- why bother? If it's him, I can't fix that."

"I can fix you, your grace."The witch was confident over the Queen's anxiety.

"I doubt that, my lady." She felt hot hands seek hers. "Don't ...kiss me." She reared back, afraid this morning's events would repeat themselves.

Melisandre was persuasive."Another time perhaps. " This made the younger woman gulp. "But today, I will teach you how to touch." She rubbed her thumbs over the top the young Queen's hands. "See."

"That's not really a secret, I've done that." Sansa whispered, as to not embarrass her.

"But could you do it to Jon. You avoid affection with Jon because you think it'll go somewhere. You can be affectionate without the fear of sex."

Sansa's eyes bulged. She had said it. She had hit the nail right on the head. "Yes well...I won't need to fear that anymore, do I?" She was about to laugh, but it would be cruel. "Poor Jon, but I'm still angry."

"Anger is better than fear." The witch soothed, tucking a ginger strand behind the Queen's ear. "Use it."

"I don't want to feed off anger." Sansa rationalised. "I don't want to be a violent... lover." Never say that word again. "Sometimes I feel I want to punish everyone for my pain." Her hair was being stroked. "I can understand how Cersei feels. I feel bitter all of the time."

"Do you ever fantasize about an idealistic version of yourself?"

"No, not anymore." Sansa was honest. "I imagine how I was." Stupid. "Then I imagine what happened." She stared off into space. "And I'm still there." She remembered crying into wolf pelts, lying on bruises, cleaning away stickiness. Her lip trembled. "I'll never be clean."

The witch was staring in the same direction as her. "I see so many similarities in this room, it's just flipped around. I suppose the original room was further down."

Sansa didn't like the idea Melisandre could see it, she felt violated, again. "Don't look there." She warned, with a tinge of irritation.

"Perhaps if what I'm going to suggest doesn't work, then perhaps we need to go to that room."

"No!" Sansa stood, and the witch retracted herself. "I'll never set a toe in that room, I won't even look at the door." The witch was cruel.

"Then I think we should settle with the first options; We eliminate the similarities or we give them new meaning." Melisandre pointed to the wolf pelts, and Sansa looked at them. "Hide them, or burn them."

There was hesitation, then the Queen finally marched over to them, scooped them up and threw them into the fireplace, she used a poker to stoke the fire. "That's one for your lord." Sansa commented, stoking the fire quite violently, like she was stabbing someone.

"Now, see those candles-" The witch pointed to a load on the window sill. "Bring them, along with that tin pitcher."

Sansa did this straight away, but soon as everything had been laid out in front of the red women- she had doubts. "This isn't magic, is it?"

"No, this is a cleansing." Melisandre scooted to the fire place, she held the tin containing the candles over the fire. Sansa watched, hypnotized. The tin glowed, and she heard the wax bubble.

R&R Peace.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry guys and girls, the red witch is only in it because she likes to follow their camp, she is in no way part of the marriage. (She was very quiet during the council meeting on the show, but she didn't have anything to add) Anyways, on the story front- I'll explain Jon's issue in due time- but someone did hit the nail right on the head.
> 
> I just want to play around with the set story, but it does change.

"Not too much, just a little bit to start."

"Aaa.. .aaa...no no, it hurts, I can't!"

"The pain is temporary, and a little rewarding." Melisandre said in a matter of fact manner. "See, you can't feel it now, it cools quick, soon as it sets."

This bitch loves the pain. The Queen could see this sated smile on her face whenever something burned near her. Sansa had chosen to do the task herself, she didn't want anybody going near that part of her anatomy. The wax was hot as it dripped onto her upper thigh. "I can't get any closer."

"It'll hurt and be soar, but mentally you'll feel cleansed. Enjoy the short burn." Melisandre said through the screen. "You can slaver it on, to get a bigger area."

Originally the witch has suggested to burn her legs with actual fire, Sansa wasn't that stupid. Sansa took a deep breath, she spread the wax on her thigh."Ssss." She fanned it. "Oh gods." She tried to brush off the wax, it crumbled, some clung. "It's clinging to things...oh gods." The wax had removed the fine hair at the top of her leg. "How the seven hells am I going to do the main bit?"

"I can help."

"You can't lift set wax without removing hair." Sansa remarked, she didn't care if a witch had heeling hands, she would show no one her flower. "Aa seven hells..."

"You can reheat to remove, but you will certainly burn your leg, and your..." Melisandre pulled up a stool against the partition, it moved, and Sansa froze all administrations."Don't put the wax on the mound, only underneath."

"Underneath? The flowerbud? That's sensitive." Sansa was about to drop the utensils. Not worth it, not worth it.

Melisandre was insistent. "Yes, and you know why that is don't you? It's made for that purpose, and that man abused it. And that's a reason why you want it cleansed, don't want any traces of...Bolton." The witch dipped her voice, not liking the imagery it conjured up. Sansa had gone quiet , the name had soiled her mind. "Your grace...?"

Sansa grudgingly continued, and the red priestess heard the tapping of instruments. "Here we go...oh gods...aaa...no...sssss." Further fanning of herself, that had gone on a little thick, so it took longer to cool down, the witch probably thought she had a low threshold to pain. True. "Aaah!" It was high pitched, she had just tugged at her intimate area. "Aa...it's off, done." She splashed the area with rose water, further burning and she relaxed- the torture was over. The Queen let her skirts fall into place.

"Well done, your grace, am I allowed to look?"

Sansa grimaced. "I never show anyone that area." She came out from behind the screen, she saw Melisandre back away from the partition, pretending she hadn't been spying.

"You are positively glowing." She opened her arms elaborately, Sansa didn't believe Melisandre was capable of ass kissing, until now. "The world seems a whole lot brighter."

Enough. "I think that's sweat, pain sweat." It still hurt, it was red, and had little pin prick dots from yanking out hair. "I feel like I have burned him away, that, and completely scalped my flower bud." The witch found that funny, she on the other hand, did not. "A little more mutilation can't hurt." Never again.

"The redness will fade, your grace, and as for the hair... it'll grow back." She was so confident with every that fell out of her mouth. "Though some men like that area bare- though some men prefer cocks."

Sansa was irked by such brazenness. "Well, men are allowed their...choices, women aren't. I don't see a man would pay that much attention to..." She clasped her robe shut. "It just a...doorway." She shook the imagery from her brain.

The witch was smiling again. "Come sit with me on the lounger." Their skirts rustled as the approached the furnishing. Sansa winced as she sat down. "I'm glad you have taken some of my advice, you will be happy."

The young woman looked at the wine on the side. She didn't drink often, she felt like some now, but if a witch was present it would be smart not to. She smiled innocently, pretending to be in accordance with the sinful woman."Maybe someday I'll associate the act with something wonderful." Nope.

"Heirs." Melisandre leant back on the lounger. "Love. And love from someone who returns it."

The Queen stared vacantly at the bed, she held a lengthy pause as if she was on the verge of disputing that, but she couldn't. "I love Jon... in the day, from a far." She was honest. "I knew him as a kind and broody gent growing up, my mother didn't like him. I suppose it sort of rubbed off on me, but not to that extend. Come to think of it he did strive to be like Robb, and he was, and everybody loved Robb. Jon was a blackwolf of the family, but it had a certain mystique, I suppose."A muscle in her face she hadn't used in a while began to flex. "He's strong, and he is..." She seemed to glance around the room as if searching for words, Sansa saw a wet stone and her mind went to swords. "Steely." She could actually picture him accurately to the hair. "And gruff." Like a wolf.

"But. There is always a but." Melisandre squeezed in, staring at nothing as if pulling imagery out of the air.

"At night...he's there next to me." Shirtless and wanton. She felt movement in her bodice, it was either her breasts getting larger, or her nipples hardening. "I'm alright sleeping next to him, he's good company, but how long can people just sleep in a bed together, before things get unbearable and then everything falls apart."What if he openly asked? Her body wilted, in the direction of the wine. Be strong, don't be a drinker.

"The first step is always the hardest, just don't push and shove, or scowl at him." Melisandre tone was likened to a septa. "-Not unless he insults you. And no singing mother's mercy, or praying." She warned, and Sansa sighed in resignation. That was her last resort.

"I don't really pray, not since the wedding."

Melisandre looked relieved, and continued. "When he enters a room, smile, don't just ignore or look in the way that you do." Melisandre sat up and did a despondent expression, Sansa figured that was an attempt at a impersonation of her. "Try smiling."

"I do smile." Sansa protested, trying to demonstrate.

"Openly smile, if you check your face." She tapped under the Queen's chin. "You'll realise you only think you're smiling, you aren't actually smiling, child."The witch reached for the wine, and sipped. "Another thing, when you drink wine, don't look into your cup, I've seen you do that. Look at him. Drink wine before bed." She offered some to her Queen, but she declined. "When you wish him goodnight, brush his shoulder or arm. If you can kiss him, by all means, do it."

Sansa just nodded along while wilting as if protesting, some of this stuff was obvious, but a fat lot a good if her beloved Jon was impotent.

The witch suddenly clicked to gain some assertion."That undressing in front of him was good, that was unexpected, you should do more of that." Melisandre took a larger sip, doing the stare over her goblet. "See what I just did."

"Yes, my lady...I indeed saw it."Growing wary that they were losing light, and bed time was rapidly approaching. "Something tells me he won't speak to me tonight." Melisandre was still drinking, chugging it back like water. "I'm destroying everything because I can't let go, I'm in a lucky situation and I'm being such an ass."

"He won't stop loving you, regardless if you don't give him heirs, or being...an ass." Melisandre looked into her cup as she said this. Not a good sign. "He never used to find that important. He used to have a fear of women because of pregnancy, he is very adaptable, he buckled down for a life of celibacy. He may do it again."Sansa doubted Melisandre would wish for that to happen. "Abstinence through fear of heirs."

The younger woman stared across at the door. "Huh..." She was toying with her sleeves. "I never thought of it that way...his fear I mean, I used to think his shyness was fear of intimacy, or rejection. Just before we got married I thought; this we had in common, and we'd be safe. I didn't realise he had changed."

Melisandre hot hand came to her face, stroking, Sansa eyed it with apprehension. "Perhaps celibacy is the life for you."

That's her game; the witch wanted to be the one to give him a son. "Maybe you're right." She lied. But good luck with Jon's problem.

Sansa had started a journal, she was writing her book ideas in it, taking up whole pages. She probably shouldn't write in bed, in case she got ink on the sheets. She dipped her quill in the well.

The beast had an insatiable appetite for flesh, it lurked in the darkness, it wasn't craving the blood that pumped so vigorously underneath the skin, but it seeked the warmth of...

The Quill went in the ink well again and remained there. She reread it, and disliked it completely, she closed the book before it had a chance to dry. The door ominously creaked and Jon came in. Stormed in. She hadn't had time to react, and she realised she had forgotten to smile as he came in, but the speed in which he had came in, he was already sitting on the end of the bed facing away before she had time to put the book on the nightstand. He was removing his boots, and she heard the creak of his leather as he bent himself up. It didn't stop there, he was pulling off his tunic, and there was further creaking. The sound serenaded her. Serenaded.

The sound of leather serenaded her to the point where she wished to wrap herself in it, and roll over and over 'till there was enough friction it would catch fire...

It was worthy enough to go in the journal, she retrieved it, and moistened her quill to jot it down. She caught a glimpse of what she wrote down earlier- it wasn't that bad. She glimpsed Jon removing his small clothes, she looked long enough until she saw the top of his buttocks and she rapidly looked away, bashfully.

The beast had an insatiable appetite for flesh, it lurked in the darkness, it wasn't craving the blood that pumped so vigorously underneath the skin, but it seeked the warmth of... buttocks.

Alright, that's enough. She snapped the book shut, it finally drew Jon's attention, not for long though. He barely acknowledged her, and he wandered into the other chamber, the door shut. And it occurred to her, he wasn't coming out again for some time, if ever. The Queen sunk under the covers, maybe she could spread out a bit. She stretched across the bed, she felt the warmness where he had sat moments before, and her hand remained there, until it grew cold. Her feet met resistance under the covers, and she realised his heavy leather was still on the bed. She pulled the mass of it towards her, when the pile was firmly in her hands, she felt obligated to smell it. Oh lords. It had such warmth, it was comforting. Home. She put it on her face as she lay back. She had grown into an odd woman.

At some point she must have nodded off. Sansa woke with a start, her dream ended as she was running through the blackness, trying to trace the sound of little Jon yelling in anguish. She turned in bed she saw no husband, just a pile of leather that had fallen off her face during the night. She moved it further to his side, and took in the morning light that came through the window. She saw the other chamber's door was still closed. He must have stayed in there all night. "Good morning, your grace." She muttered despondently.

As she went to sit up, she became aware of moisture and stickiness under and between her legs. Oh hells. She leapt out of bed, and automatically pulled the sheets up and away from the carnage. She had bled heavily onto the sheets. Her first thought was the wax burning ritual last night, but then of course she would have bled sooner otherwise, so this was definitely her flower blooming. Well, she certainly wasn't going to destroy this mattress, so she pulled up all the bedding and dumped it onto the floor, she gathered it in a way so the mess was folded up inside. She chucked it behind her screen, and looked at the mattress. It wasn't fear that drove her to dumping oil onto the stain, but the fact it was a taboo to make it known when a woman was blooming, it made her conceive the idea that it was dirty. Surely men detested it as a woman aged. She used a buffing brush to scratch at it. Now it was a red brown mass that took up a quarter of the bed. She picked up the mattress and attempted to flip it, it flopped to the floor instead. Sansa was beginning to tire when she finally winched it back on to the frame, clean side facing up. If she did that everyday, she would be as strong as her husband.

She heard movement in the other chamber, they must have heard her commotion. Her husband, opened the door and wandered back in, studying the blank bed. "Your handmaiden is noisy." He commented bitterly, not looking at her. Still moody I see. She watched him retrieve his uniform that was on the floor, as he stooped he seemed to sniff the air, she went as still as a rock.

For a brief moment he must have forgotten he'd fallen out with her -"Do you smell a metallic smell, like-." He actually looked at her curiously, straightening, before his eye line dropped. "Blood-Oh erm, that'll be it." He dropped his eyes to the leather in his hand.

Sansa glanced down, and noticed she was wearing a bloodied gown, she'd forgotten about that bit of evidence. She made a noise and dashed towards the screen. She stared at him through the slats. "Fetch me Agnes." Why were his lips curling?

"Sure." He went to the door, but hesitated. "Are you sure you want them prying?" His voice was low. "I could pass you your things, you don't have to be embarrassed about...your ailment, I'm not embarrassed."

She was gauging his expression, how can he be content she was soiling her clothes? Did he assume this was her first blood? "I'm always embarrassed about it." She said, testing his reaction.

He approached the screen, and she moved her face from the slats, and put her back to it. In case he did look through."It's healthy, don't fret about it." The partition shook a little, and she flinched- she saw his fingers clutching the edge of the screen. "It explains a lot..."

"What do you mean?" She said innocently. Don't comment on the smell.

"Your mood, and reluctance..."

Well that explains his change in mood. Sansa felt like correcting him, she highly doubted her mood over the past week was hysteria. Though, it would have been a great excuse, maybe that's what was wrong all along? "Of course." She finally agreed, taking a secret and silent deep breath. "It weakens me."

"I bet." He had a dark chuckle. "You have looked pale."

That was through terror. She listened out for retreating steps, they didn't come. "I'll rest in my chambers. Agnes will keep me company."

"Melisandre, you mean?" He was very bitter, Jon would probably not allow anyone near her again. "Why would you want her here after all she's done."

He must have thought Sansa was so weak, and a complete push-over."She brought you back, she might have summoned that dragon, and she helpe-."

Jon actually looked around the partition, her eyes nearly bulged. "Something...brought me back." He said with conviction.

She folded her skirt to hide the blood. "Of course."

"Sansa... enough, it's just blood." He spied the bed sheets in a heap next to her. "You really hate blooming, don't you?"

She nodded slowly, and he remained there staring at her sympathetically.

"Call for my maid." It came out meek and self-consciously, and he continued to probe her with those stormy eyes. "Please."

He gave a sigh of resignation, and left her. "I'll send someone else."

Who else was like- what the hell? - At the start. Yes, you know who you are Review


End file.
